They're Nott Twins
by ArrogantSlytherin
Summary: The House of Nott has stood, manipulating the strings of power from the shadows, for centuries. Its newest generation, born amid the chaos of the First Wizarding War, plans to more actively shepherd the incompetent who surround them. Hermione and her twin brother Theo, along with a blond, a Lord, and an orphan, will change everything. Pureblood!Hermione Slytherin!Hermione AU
1. It's Just Blood

**Hey Strangers. Miss me?**

 **Don't freak out. Or, you know, freak out... I won't presume to tell you what to do with your emoting...**

 **The prologue has been shaved down from the original five chapters... I would recommend reading it (given the fact that it's been a year and the NSA only knows what you've been doing with your life during that time...).**

 **Content: ANGST**

 **Disclaimer:** Contrary to popular belief, I am not Queen Rowling and therefore do not own Harry Potter. If I had a soul this would make me cry at night.

September 1982

Thoros swept out the ebony front doors the moment he felt the wards tingle with her return. He froze three steps later at the sight of his gore-spattered wife. She had an equally gory toddler screaming and thrashing in her arms.

"Good evening, mo ghràdh **[Scottish Gaelic for my love]**." He brushed his customary kiss against her cheekbone. He had to dodge a flailing fist, but he did not permit himself any outward signs of noticing. "How was your shopping trip?"

"Unexpectedly fruitful!" Calladora replied. Her eyes shone despite the chunks of blood clogged hair that kept encroaching on her face. He allowed a flicked glance at the toddler, whose volume, impossibly, had increased. "I was on my way to the apparation point when I heard this little one crying…"

"And your solution was to _kidnap-_ "

"Let me _finish_ , Thoros." He refused to allow his lips to indulge in a smile. Whatever her appearance, much less the presence of a child, her sass was some point of comforting normality.  
"I heard her crying, and when I looked toward the little hovel, I saw a woman collapse across the doorstep." He allowed his eyes to narrow. She ignored him. "The woman was covered in blood and cuts, but she still had the strength to grab me and demand I save her daughter." Thoros' head throbbed. The screaming child wasn't helping matters. "When I ran upstairs, this awful muggle man was looming over her with a knife! I didn't know what to do of course, but her hair was sparking, and she was screaming, and I just used that curse you taught me and destroyed him!" Her excited smile twisted, and she glanced down at herself, seeming to notice the state of her appearance for the first time.

Thoros inhaled for five seconds then exhaled for seven. "Let me see if I have this straight, Calladora…" He flicked a cleaning charm at her and the girl. "You went into a muggle home; a home you _knew_ to be dangerous…"

"It was a muggle with a knife, Thoros. I was hardly in any danger," she scoffed.

"You then kidnapped a muggle child…"

"She's not a muggle! Touch her!" She shoved the kicking toddler toward him, and he pulled away in revulsion. She huffed and glowered. "She _isn't_. Her hair was shooting _green sparks_ when I arrived in her nursery. Besides! I can feel her aura."

"So you kidnapped a mudblooded child…"

"Her _name_ is Hermione Caledonia Melanthe Trastamara i Nott," Calla growled. "She's _mine_. Her mother said I must take her and by Coatlicue y mis hermanas _haré_ **[** **Spanish for I will** **]**." She glared at him for a few panting breaths and forcibly drew herself to her full, if still inferior, height. "Even if her adoption means protecting her from _you_ , Thoros Nott."

~*TNT*~

October 1982

"So she _is_ yours," Lucius said. The bluntness, over _tea_ no less, immediately put Thoros on the defensive. The blond man was practically thirty years his junior, yet he didn't have the decency to be _delicate_ with an implied attack on the House of _Nott_? No. There were lines.

Thoros didn't usually put much stock in society's dictates, but this was ridiculous.

"Calladora struggled to bring Hermione into the world," he declared, edging his voice in steel and ice. "For months we thought we'd lose her, so we decided not to introduce her to society. However, as her health improves, Theodore improves as well."

"So you've just sequestered her away for _three years_?" Lucius demanded.

"I find there's little I wouldn't do for my child's health," he replied. It was true. He didn't particularly care for the mudblood, but he _would_ do anything for his heir.

Lucius opened his mouth to reply, but he was cut short by the arrival of three muddy, squealing toddlers.

Before either man could sputter an objection, they found themselves juggling wriggling bodies each trying to show off their treasures. Calladora and Narcissa entered last, every hair in place and hems slightly dampened, looking entirely too pleased with themselves.

Thoros wasn't entirely sure how it happened, but he suddenly found himself face to muddy face with Calladora's little girl and the toad she clutched.

His reality shattered at the feel of her magic, raw yet familiar, mingling tentatively with his own.

He barely registered his wife ushering their guests toward the receiving room as his mind scrambled to reconcile the impossible.

He should not be able to feel her this strongly. He could feel Calladora and Theodore's auras when he touched them of course. Sometimes when they were upset enough he didn't even have to touch them. The girl shared no bond with him, though. Not to mention she was _three_ and raw neutral magic was supposed to be undetectable until the child became aware of and capable of controlling their magic.

"It's like you were made for us," he whispered, his hand coming up to stroke her hair without his permission. "Like you're somehow my…" He broke off, riveted by the little girl standing shyly on his knees. She offered so much power… potential… If he bound her to his family… the opportunities for-

"Don't you _dare_ treat my daughter like a pawn, Thoros Octavian," Calla threatened. He glanced up. She stood framed in the door to the parlor, her hair wild and seeming to float like flames around her head. "She's a little _girl,_ not a resource."

He felt a flicker of fear under his fingers and snapped his eyes back to the mud- Hermione.

She knew something important was happening, and she was cautiously hopeful. The hope scared her and confused her. She was three and didn't know her mind, but he was fifty-one and had spent his life knowing his and others' minds.

She wanted, was desperate for, his love and acceptance.

"Dirby," he murmured. A crack heralded the arrival of the senior male house elf. "Please bring me the necessaries for a blood ritual. It seems I'm about to have a daughter."

~*TNT*~

February 1983

Calladora had taken to acting as though she hadn't been in and out of a sick bed "resting" since Yule, and Thoros was tired of catering to her. She argued with him daily over whether or not she should be running after toddlers given her obvious and increasing pallor; she adopted and abandoned projects on practically a semi-daily basis; and she wouldn't hear of anyone else caring for Theodore and Hermione.

"Beloved," he said from the nursery doorway. She froze with her hands still submerged in a pile of fabric scraps and ribbon. "I hope you didn't think you could avoid me forever." Her reaction brought him up short.

She didn't fall, but if it were possible for a human to utterly collapse while still remaining upright, Thoros would have sworn that was what she did.

"You can't tell anyone," she whispered.

"Tell anyone _what_ ," he growled, taking a step forward.

She winced. "Shade Blight."

Silence.

She turned, squaring her shoulders. "I have shade blight, Thoros."

"Ridiculous. All diseases affecting magical power and ability to reproduce would have been documented in matrimonial negotiations."

A corner of her mouth quirked up. "I didn't want to believe it either, but I haven't been able to perform even simple spells in weeks."

Just like that, all order in the universe imploded.

"I won't lose you. I won't let you waste away to nothing."

"You can't always have what you want, Cariño," she whispered, stepping closer and running the tips of her fingers over his jaw.

"What would you have me do, then?" he demanded, clenching his fists to keep from grabbing her arms. "Name it and I'll do it."

"As you know, Shade Blight is hereditary." He grit his teeth until his jaw ached. "The mamas and hermanas never discuss it… I had to practically drag it out of Catalina… It's supposed to attack the old, but given that Theo still hasn't shown any accidental magic, and his aura isn't strengthening at the rate it's supposed to… I think he-"

"Stop." He refused to think of his son's magical core slowly deteriorating at the hands of the blight.

"I'm so sorry, my love. So, so very sorry," she whispered, cuddling into his chest.

"So this is how I'm to lose you _and_ my son?"

She jerked upright and away, her eyes blazing. "NO! Never. It may be too late for me, but I will be _damned_ if I can't save my son. No. I have a plan. When I found Hermione, simply being _near_ the strength of her magic assuaged the blight. If we were to tie Theodore's magical core to hers… Just until he comes of age…"

"A twin bond," Thoros breathed.

~*TNT*~

March, the Vernal Equinox, 1983

He watched Hermione finish the contents of the crystal bowl, his heart in his throat. Once she let go, the ancient vessel, used for centuries of Nott blood rituals, floated sedately back into the grass. No one moved as the magic dissipated around them.

Theo's aura had strengthened palpably when he'd released the bowl, but the undercurrents were different. It wasn't until Hermione released it, her own aura flashing in acceptance of the change, that the Nott patriarch was able to breathe.

His two children's auras were identical, pulsating with strength.

For the first time in centuries, the Notts had twins.

~*TNT*~

March, the Vernal Equinox, 1983

"Arrorró mis niños [ **Hush-a-bye my babies** ]." The ritual had been too much. "Arrorró mi sol [ **Hush-a-bye my sun]."** Thoros stared down at his wife, her now white hair laying wispy against sunken cheeks. "Arrorró pedazo [ **Hush-a-bye oh piece** ]," she sang, running her wasted fingers through Hermione's curls. They had achieved the same shade of almost black as Theodore's. "De mi corazon [ **of my heart** ]." The song dwindled for a few moments. "Are you angry with me?" It took him several heartbeats to process her quiet question.

"Would you have me be so?" Her dark eyes flashed to his. He closed his eyes and breathed. They didn't have time for evasion. "When you first told me, yes, I was angry. Extremely angry, in fact. But right now…" He'd promised himself that he wouldn't give in to excessive and futile displays of emotion. His fingernails dug into his palms. "My feelings aren't important right now. They won't change anything. They won't help you… No. I'm not angry, now. Just… resigned, I believe."

"You're skipping steps in the grieving process, you cheater."

That tricked a laugh out of him. Well, technically it tricked a bemused exhalation and a tiny smirk, but her answering smile was brilliant.

"Rules are for lesser men. Not for Notts."

"Who am I to question brilliance," she teased.

He stole her hand from Hermione's hair. "Nothing is more deceitful than the appearance of humility, my love," he murmured into her skin.

"My greatest flaw has always been that I have far too much fun being myself. You know that," she whispered.

"You have no flaws," he whispered back.

~*TNT*~

March 1983

Narcissa quietly approached Thoros after Calladora's funeral. The older man didn't react when she laid her slim hand on his shoulder, but she removed it after a brief time all the same. She stood respectfully behind him and just to his left before the mausoleum, though, knowing Calla wouldn't have wanted him left completely alone at such a time.

"I loved her, you know," Thoros murmured. Narcissa's eyes widened without her permission, taken aback by the artlessness of the statement.

"She was… an exceptional woman."

Silence reigned as they both stared at the black marble edifice.

"... Papa?" came a tiny voice behind them.

Thoros spun and strode to the little girl draped in black velvet. Her frizzed, black hair had been braided into a prim little bun. Kneeling before the girl, ignoring their audience, he asked, "What's wrong, Hermione?" He brushed a kiss against her forehead and tucked the flyaway strands framing her face behind her ears.

"I miss Mama…" she whimpered, glancing nervously at the statuesque blonde.

"I do too, mo ghràdh [ **Scotts Gaelic for 'my love'** ]. I do too."

 **I mean... I know you're probably super interested in seeing what I did to the First Year... but... There's a review box for a reason... I'm just saying...**


	2. Social Norms and Other Lies

**Hello, my Voidlings... I hope we're all able to breathe deeply and regularly (there are hyperventilating bags available upon request) despite the fact that Twins is suddenly less than 10K words long... It needed doing. You should know that I have missed your cyber faces and voices during my year away... I look forward to renewing all our conversations.**

 **Content: Swearing**

 **Disclaimer: Still Not Rowling, still don't own Harry Potter, still not crying over it. Let's move on.**

July 1991

Theo stood stock still on the overstuffed little stool in the back corner of Madame Malkin's. Though he staunchly devoted himself to finding patterns in the silver tarnish on the ornate mirror, he couldn't ignore Draco pouting on his right. Theo rolled his eyes without actually moving them and tried to hone in on his twin sister.

A little bell tinkled somewhere behind him. Theo was too distracted by the excessive light from all the mirrors and shimmering sale advertisements abrading his retinas (not to mention his sister's bratty blond betrothed) to pay his surroundings any attention.

For the fifth time in the eons he'd spent getting his robes tailored and his ankles stabbed, Theo tried to shove past Hermione's unabashed glee. Father had set her loose on Flourish and Blotts, and her emotions were going to swallow him if she didn't calm down soon. Of course, getting swallowed by her glee and blowing a crater into the alley would be better than listening to Draco complain about the first year broom rule for the _twelfth_ time in two hours. Twelve times, Theo mused, in roughly one hundred and twenty minutes averaged out to once every _ten_ minutes, and that was twice as often as any reasonably patient person could be expected to endure.

Hermione's emotions rubbed against his mind, catlike and insistent, swelling so close he could feel the undercurrents. The suffocating sludge feeling of too much sugar in not enough time coated his throat and made his nose itch. He set his jaw and focused on his jealousy and impatience, even considering pouting for half a moment, to ward her off. It didn't help. He still felt like she was sitting on his shoulders driving his face into a pillow.

She was such a pain when she got smug.

The very last thing he needed was to lose rein on their emotion. She _clearly_ had no intention of helping, so he _had_ to keep himself separate. For the sake of all the helpless ignorants going about their drab shopping.

And, of _course_ , it was Lughnasadh Eve so the environmental magic was already heightened and itching along their skin.

It was no use. He sheathed his dignity and forced himself to pout.

He was positive this was her not-so-subtle retribution for the fact he'd gotten their school books with Father the previous week. It wasn't like he _regretted_ lording his special trip to Flourish and Blotts over her… He'd earned it. He'd had to endure a morning spent silently observing the Gringotts Board of Directors while Father... somehow made the economy do what their family wanted… It was his birthright as a Nott, so he had to learn everything. For both of them. It wasn't _his_ fault the Goblins refused to deal with girls. If anything, their closed-mindedness validated the trip. He deserved a reward for his good behavior. Three new books for three hours. It was business. It was fair. Besides, it made sense for him and Father to get their textbooks too.

Efficiency saves time, time is money, and Notts understand money.

"Father says-"

"Draco." Theo cut across the blond more by reflex than anything else.

"What?" Theo shot him a look for the petulant tone.

His gaze slid past Draco's pointy, mutinous face to the pair of riveting green eyes over Draco's shoulder. They were huge despite the shaggy fringe of black hair attempting to obscure them. They also seemed engrossed in white-knuckling their way past the fight or flight response.

Madame Malkin chose that moment to bustle over, several basic black robes floating along after her. "Here we are, dear. Now, you'll be wanting at least five; I don't care what the supply list says. Robes get ruined so easily with all the nonsense students get up to between classes. Up on the stool, now! Oh puddle, I've forgotten my tape. Hang on!"

Hermione's glee spiked, sending the smile muscles in his face spasming. Theo focused harder on the green eyes stealing glances at him in the mirror behind him. They looked vaguely terrified. Theo forced himself to analyze and sympathize.

The boy didn't know them. Theo was stuck babysitting his future brother-in-law. The boy was alone. Theo'd probably lost far too much blood to the vengeful pins around his ankles. Some random matron had been brushing her hands all over the other boy. The other boy didn't like being touched. Theo didn't like being touched.

No one touched a Nott.

Draco poked him.

" _Theo_!"

Theo centered himself and inhaled for five seconds before glancing at the blond.

" _What?_ "

Draco nodded to the stiff boy on the third stool. There was absolutely no subtlety in the gesture and the boy was blushing, studying his toes.

Theo forced his posture into unconcerned superiority after a quick glare at Draco. "We haven't been properly introduced," He declared, meeting the green eyes once more. He allowed Hermione's happiness to stretch his lips the barest amount. "I'm Theodore Nott, first son of Lord Thoros Nott. This one," he jerked his chin, "is Draco Malfoy, first son of Lord Lucius Malfoy. I'd bow but…" He gestured vaguely to the pins busily jabbing themselves into his hem. "Don't want to risk it.

"Hello," the boy replied awkwardly, but a telltale smile tugged the corner of his mouth. He dropped eye contact with incongruous speed, however, when Madame Malkin bustled back over.

"He hasn't got a broom and he doesn't play Quidditch," Draco supplied. Theo couldn't be sure, but it looked like the green-eyed boy reddened further.

"We're first years," Theo reminded as patiently as gritted teeth allowed. "That doesn't actually matter, Drake," Theo murmured pointedly.

Madam Malkin was too professional to notice their conversation, plowing on despite the other boy's obvious hesitance and embarrassment. "These two here are getting fitted for their winter wardrobes along with their uniforms. Are you sure I can't interest you in a nice set of Yule formals? Maybe a waistcoat or two?"

"Erm… No thanks. Just what's on the list is fine."

Madam Malkin tutted softly before sinking to the floor to handle the boy's hem personally. Theo was intrigued by the special treatment. Who was this boy that he merited the owner's personal attention when the heirs to the Houses of Nott _and_ Malfoy were fit magically? He wished he could see more of the boy's reflection. "Are you a first year as well?" he asked, secretly hoping the boy would give him some sort of hint. Maybe Draco would behave better with competition for attention as well… He didn't dare get his hopes up though…

The green-eyed boy's reflection nodded shyly.

Theo controlled his mounting anticipation.

"Know what House you're going to be in yet?" Draco demanded, sensing and using the boy's weakness to wrest control of the conversation.

Theo winced at the heavy-handedness, his mind scrambling for ways to salvage the conversation short of gagging the Malfoy. "No one knows their House until they get there, _Drake_."

He glanced at the green-eyed boy, but the kid was studiously taking in the right side of the mirror's gilt frame.

Draco's retort stole his attention.

"Well, our entire families have been in Slytherin, and we will be, too. It's not an unreasonable question." Theo cocked his head in disapproval of the repeated petulance. Draco raised his chin and addressed the other boy without backing down his challenging stare. "Better than Hufflepuff. I'd leave if they put me there."

No answer was forthcoming.

Draco shot the boy an annoyed glance. "Wouldn't _you_?" he prompted.

Theo inhaled slowly through the nose. No rising to blatant challenges? Modest? Practically zero concern for intimidation through personal presentation? The boy likely came from a long, proud line of Hufflepuffs. Though Theo supposed that could also mean it wasn't completely idiotic and unfounded to seek validation, camaraderie, or, Hell, even a relatively impartial perspective from this boy.

Said boy shrugged.

Truly, he was a thrilling conversationalist.

A mannequin sporting an elaborate hat clattered to the floor, derailing the exchange and sending Madame Malkin scrambling toward the front of the shop. Theo got a peek of vast, mottled brown leather before she and an assistant chased what looked like a ginormous human back out onto the street.

"Who was that?" Draco breathed. Theo couldn't tell if the awestruck tone was good or bad, and he didn't bother to check.

"That's Hagrid." Theo glanced over, craning a bit really, at the boy's voice. It held a thread of fierce pride: incongruous with a Hufflepuff. A Hufflepuff would likely not be so open about impending revenge for a potentially slighted friend.

Perhaps he was still learning proper comportment.

"I've heard of him. He's like a servant, right?" Theo sighed. Draco Steam-Engine-of-Arrogance-and-Poor-Choices Malfoy had recovered. Fantastic.

"Gamekeeper." The correction was glacial.

"How fascinating," Theo replied, lacing his tone with earnest sincerity. If the boy ended up sorted into Hufflepuff and subsequently turned the entire House against them… Mordred's molars.

Hufflepuffs, when not on a rampage to avenge their friends, could be useful… and even then... "Do you know him? Has he told you much about the grounds? I've heard the Headmaster keeps blocking any legislation favoring the expansion of Hogsmeade due to relations with the centaurs." The green-eyed boy glanced at him again. It wasn't exactly approval, but it was better than getting disregarded as some idiot lackey of Draco's.

"Yeah? Well, _I've_ heard he's a total savage. That he lives in some sort of hovel and he sets it on _fire_ sometimes when he gets drunk and tries to do magic."

" _I_ think he's brilliant."

Merlin above please don't let the boy become a Hufflepuff. Theo had invested a huge amount of time and personal inconvenience in Draco and starting fresh with a _new_ best friend after the Malfoy's inexplicable and grotesque death would be quite vexing. Though, to be fair, he _had_ intentionally pissed off a potential Hufflepuff.

The boy didn't seem to have much Slytherin in him, given he couldn't keep to his goals against simple baiting. The dismissal was rather well done (if not especially eviscerating). Of course, Draco was absurdly easy to manipulate... On the other hand, Draco had a gift for reading the weakness in others to best thwart them. If the boy had any loyalty to the Gamekeeper, and his tone implied that he did, then a Slytherin would have probably smiled while shutting Draco down… On the other hand, the boy was _clearly_ someone important, and perhaps he shouldn't be trying to find hostilities that didn't exist…

Of course, the boy could also be a Ravenclaw (meaning he could still be a useful connection) or a Gryffindor (making him seven different kinds of useless).

Fascinated, Theo probed his new puzzle a bit further. "Is he a friend of your parents, then? Is that why he approached you while you're unaccompanied?"

"They're dead."

Theo pursed his lips. The boy seemed determined to make the conversation as difficult and awkward as possible, yet his body language, according to a reference text he and Hermione had read to try to understand Daphne's intentions with Theo, screamed he had no ulterior motives. He just genuinely wanted to be anywhere else.

"I'm so sorry," he murmured. Even Draco was blessedly quiet, and the two assessed the black haired boy.

"But they _were_ our kind, though, weren't they?"

Theo wanted to push his face through his palm.

Unless he actually wanted to push Draco's face through the tarnished mirror.

"They were a witch and wizard if that's what you mean."

Before he could maneuver the discussion away from _that_ particular erumpent, Hermione's annoyance and regret spiked into him. It was a staggering change of pace from her nearly incoherent excitement and indecision from earlier. He had to blink a few times and catch his balance before he could center himself in the moment. His total, though subconscious, focus on counterbalancing her excitement waved its frayed ends around and across his senses. It felt a bit like trying to summon an object wandlessly, only to be zapped by magical backlash when said object shattered under the strain. He bit back a hiss and clenched his hands against the stabbing prickles under his skin. Hopefully, the mirror wouldn't crack. He concentrated on the spasming needle working its way through his boot into his flesh. Rooted, he cast a quick glance around.

The edges of his mirror were frosted; the green-eyed boy had left; and Draco was fuming.

He froze and so did the needle.

"Merlin, Morgana, and Mordred, Draco, what did you _do_?" Theo demanded.

He hid his wince.

Too much. Too obvious. Sure, he was barely gripping control and now had to entirely reshape his attitude to counterbalance Hermione's displeasure, which threatened to swallow him (again), but it was no excuse. Subtlety is the key by which Notts open all doors, after all.

Fortunately, Draco didn't seem to notice his gaffe.

"I didn't do anything! That kid was being a total git! I mean, he wouldn't even talk to me. Wouldn't look at me. Like I was beneath his notice or something. Me! What an arrogant little prick."

Theo stared at him for a few moments, willing the Malfoy heir to see the irony.

"... Mate… you insulted a friend of his family…"

"No, I didn't! I was offering my information as a counterpoint to yours. It's _called_ conversing."

"And it didn't occur to you to-"

The emotions from Hermione shifted again. Resigned impatience. She usually saved that for Malfoys… He felt outward, searching for the beacon of her magic.

"Crap. Your mother's done. She, Father, and Hermione are outside."

"So?" Draco grumbled, but he shifted his gaze to the black leather tips of his boots, effectively backing down and agreeing to behave. Theo relaxed a fraction.

"So, we can talk about this _later_. I promise. The boy probably won't even get sorted in with us. I bet we hardly see him." Draco muttered mutinously for a second or two, and Theo lost a few more grains of patience to Hermione. He hated being separated from his twin. It made dealing with their magic while playing 'normal' so much harder. Alone in Nott Manor, it didn't matter if the intensity of their emotions grew exponentially. Something would blow up and the house would fix itself. He took a deeper breath than socially acceptable. "Just play nicely with Hermione for a few minutes, and everyone goes home happy."

The little bell on the door tinkled.

Draco sent him one more sulky glare before smoothing his face into beatific confidence and ease. "I still say the guy was being a dick on purpose."

"Language," Theo corrected, his eyes searching amid the racks and milling adults.

"No one can hear me," Draco muttered mutinously.

Theo ignored him, melting into Hermione's subdued desperation to get back to the manor library. No more compensating. For now.

Draco sulked at his reflection. Theo's annoyance faded into the undercurrents of his mind as quickly as it appeared. His eyes zeroed in on the occasional flashes of the dark pile of curls weaving toward them.

"Just be a gentleman. It won't kill you."

Draco's head snapped up; his silver eyes were ablaze with affronted dignity. Before he could retort, though, Hermione asked, "what won't kill whom?"

A tiny, frigid hand slipped into his. Theo grinned at the wave of calm and his baby sister's superior expression. The frost had been reduced to a vague fog shadowing the silver by the gilt frame joint between the mirrors.

"Your brother was graciously reminding me that I won't shrivel and die without your radiant smile." The sarcasm could have choked a hydra.

Hermione offered the blond an angelic, adoring smile. "That sounds like such a wretched fate. I don't think I could wish it on anyone... even you." Her tone cut.

"I hang on your good opinion as much as on our conversations," Draco retorted.

Theo rolled his eyes. "Claws away, you two. You know what happened last time."

The fluttering voice of the stores' proprietress grew louder, escorting Father's low, carefully measured replies.

"I maintain Draco started it," Hermione murmured, her smile never faltering.

~*TNT*~

August 31st, 1991

Thoros knew he was probably overdoing it. Theo's posture was perfect, of course, but Hermione was slowly melting off her seat, an expression of protracted agony across her face.

"This is precisely why we are having this conversation," he lectured, halting his pacing to lean against the edge of his desk. He raised a challenging eyebrow at his daughter. "I appreciate the fact you are _able_ to control your expression in public, but you must understand that _everywhere_ is public once at Hogwarts!"

"Yes, Papa," Theo replied.

"Papaaaa," Hermione moaned. He felt his lips twitch entirely without his permission. She was so much like her mother. "It's not like we're going to be living in a den of legilimency _masters_! And the sun's going to go down! I have been waiting for birthday flan all _day_."

"You _will_ be living in the den of two of the most skilled legilimens this country has ever _seen_. One of whom is by _far_ the nosiest." It might have been a snap. He might have snapped at his daughter. Chagrin might be choking him, making him defensive.

"What I think Hermione is t _rying_ to say, Papa…" Thoros silenced his son with a look. He _knew_ what she was trying to say. He didn't need to be soothed.

The boy subsided and studied his knees. More chagrin choked him.

"Don't draw attention to ourselves; don't make eye contact with professors for longer than necessary; don't be alone with Professor Snape; don't argue or discuss fallacies with classmates or professors; don't point out the bias and inferiority of the curriculum," his daughter's voice rose like a phoenix from chaos in support of her brother. Thank Samhain they'd grown out of jumping forward and baring their teeth when they came to each other's defense. "Be as meek and sheeplike as possible." She bared her teeth at him. He pinched the bridge of his nose. This attitude was from the Trastamaras. No Nott concluded arguments or challenged magical superiors with overt sarcasm. "Papaaa…" Her wheedling tone returned. "You _promised_ we'd be done before Tibby calls birthday dinner, and you _promised_ we could open Mama's letters before sunset!"

Nevermind that it wasn't even six o'clock yet.

"We'll be fine, Papa," Theo agreed with a soft smile.

Thoros unleashed a lengthy sigh and retreated to his chair to survey them over his desk. "You remember what I told you about boredom?"

"It will be inescapable," the twins chorused. "Our greatest challenge will be occupying ourselves." Hermione dragged herself straighter, her dark eyes glinting with hope.

"Students with promising intellect or power?"

"Study from afar, never outshine them."

"And if they approach you?"

"Parrot the Ministry in _every_ exchange no matter the provocation."

"Do you know easier ways than the basics?"

"No."

They were positively coiled in their seats with excitement.

"Harry Potter?" He raised an eyebrow and smirked in challenge.

The twins darted covert glances at each other. "Will be Gryffindor. Naturally. But how exciting to get to be in his year and have classes with the Savior of the Wizarding World?"

Something within him unclenched a fraction. "Wouldn't nonverbals be faster?"

They grinned. "That's sixth year magic."

He didn't try to suppress his affection for them and summoned both the letterbox and Calladora's gold letter opener with a smile and a shake of his head.

Hermione squealed and bounced forward. "Then after this the Night ceremony!"

"No, we agreed that will be after _dinner_ , my daughter."

She paid him no attention, too busy reminding her brother it was _her_ year to extinguish all the candles in the library and bedrooms. Theodore had taken hold of the carved wooden box with delicate designs and patterns in gold flake, calmly ignoring his sister. She didn't seem to notice this and snatched the letter opener from him, gesturing with it, while dictating where he ought to place the offerings to the family magic to best channel the celebration once the moon reached its zenith. Theo disarmed her after she had nearly sliced through his cheek and drew it across his palm. Hermione squawked in protest when she finally realized what he was doing, but Theodore had already placed his hand on the twining vines surrounding his carved visage and inserted the letter opener into the keyhole. The box flashed and opened to reveal a pale gold envelope resting in the blood red velvet interior.

Hermione accepted the letter opener for her turn with poor grace.

~*TNT*~

Hermione tried and failed to contain her grimace as yet another muggle passed within mere feet of her. They all had a sort of glazed look… the muggles. As if they were totally unaware of their surroundings. Theo huddled closer to her, still pushing their luggage trolley.

"Why couldn't we side along or floo to the village?" Hermione practically whimpered, dropping her gaze hastily from a leering muggle with stubbled cheeks, a grubby overcoat, and repulsive teeth.

Papa's arm flexed under her clutching fingers. "Tradition," He replied in Nott Gaelic. His tone was quite clear about his feelings on the subject.

The little family navigated begrudgingly around a squawking clump of sports enthusiasts (judging by their clothing).

"It's impressive that they were able to make this, though," Theo commented, gesturing vaguely to the glass ceiling so far above.

"It's impressive they've only had _one_ catastrophic plague," Hermione quipped, eyeing the grungy looking floor and overflowing bins. An obnoxious sneeze followed by a fit of hacking coughs drew the Notts' attention to a fat, pasty guard lounging against one of the brick and steel arches. Hermione couldn't make out the spiky white graffiti just above the man's right shoulder, but it seemed crass.

"Great Morgana's ghost… Is that…? Surely they didn't…" Hermione followed her father's incredulous gaze to a scruffy black haired boy eyeing the guard apprehensively while standing with his trolley in the middle of the flow of humanity.

"He was at Madame Malkins with Draco and me last month," Theo whispered, perking up. Hermione shot him a judging glance for his sudden flash of interest.

"And you didn't think to mention…!? Nevermind," Father bit out, cutting Theo's confused gaze off before it could lead to questions. "Go retrieve him. I cannot _believe_ the Ministry isn't supervising… Nevermind. Go."

Hermione watched Theo slip away, their mutual curiosity building and mutating in their bond until she _had_ to ask.

"Who is he, Papa? Why should the Ministry be supervising him?"

She kept her eyes wide and guileless when Papa glanced down at her. His jaw was working and his eyes were flashing. She poured on the innocence. "That," he finally snapped, "is possibly the single most powerful wizard alive." Hermione glanced over to her brother, her lip caught between her teeth. He and the scruffy boy were shaking hands. " _That_ ," Papa continued, "is the person who survived an A _vada_ as a _toddler_."

"Harry Potter!?" she yelped, yanking her head around to study the boy more closely.

"In a muggle transportation hub without a full complement of Aurors, no less. Yet the Prophet still has the unmitigated _gall_ to praise the Ministry's effectiveness."

"Sweet Circe," she breathed.

Her brother towed the boy over.

"Father, may I present Mr. Harry Potter? Harry, my father, Lord Thoros Nott, Earl of Strath Nidh and Ghàidhealaibh."

"Hello." Potter couldn't seem to decide whether or not to bow. He settled on an awkward jerk that probably strained his neck. "Pleased to meet you."

"Likewise, I'm sure."

Awkwardness lurked around the edges of the growing silence. Hermione cast a glance at her brother, demanding and concerned (not desperate). He shrugged minutely. Hermione dismissed him and rifled her memories of their research into techniques for easing the flow of conversation. "We were just about to enter the platform- fascinating magic, you know- would you care to join us? Unless you're waiting for someone else, of course," she tacked on so she didn't seem presumptuous.

Obvious relief flooded the boy's face. "No, yeah. That would be great. I'm not waiting for anyone, no."

She waited a beat, decided that was an affirmative, and replied, "Excellent. It's this way." He hadn't offered his arm, and she was trying not to overanalyze that fact as she struggled to herd him without seeming to herd him.

"The door is actually spelled to recognize magical signatures and intent. Ingenius, really. Even if a muggle _knew_ the Platform was there, they couldn't pass the barrier without a magical signature." She kept her lecture quiet, conscious of her father's gaze and the sea of muggles far too close for comfort. She had never been in an open room with so many people in her life, and she was coming to the inescapable conclusion that she hated crowds.

A strident voice cut across the din like a Bombarda. " _Every_ year _packed_ with muggles! Come on you lot! Through the barrier! Percy first!"

Father jerked her back, along with Harry Potter, to avoid the ginger hoard seemingly unaware of their presence. Next to her, Potter flinched.

Papa dropped his hands but she could feel him growing still and forbidding at her back. His magic thundered over the black wool coat they'd transfigured from her traveling cloak.

She didn't have to look to know his jaw was working back and forth again as the last of the ginger family disappeared through the barrier.

~*TNT*~

"It's almost eleven…" Tracey fretted, her knee bouncing and her fingers fidgeting with a lock of her blonde hair. Auntie had curled it for her first day.

"I know!" The spritely, pale blonde girl gushed. "I can't believe we're finally going!" Auntie had said her name was Daphne and that she would take care of her. Make sure she behaved and everything.

"You're Tracey, right? The _Davis_ girl?" drawled a pug-faced brunette perched on the opposite bench. Tracey felt her cheeks warm. The blonde girl, Daphne, grabbed one of her hands and squeezed.

Tracey glanced at her, but Daphne wasn't looking. She was flashing her teeth in a demure smile at the pug-faced brunette. "Right? I barely recognized her when she came back from her family's trip to Italy!" Tracey had never been to Italy.

A lithe, dark-skinned boy looked up from his magazine with interest. Tracey tried not to squirm under the attention. Daphne ignored him in favor of the brunette, who'd turned back to the window.

"Is Draco still saying goodbye to his parents, Pansy?" Daphne asked innocently.

Her reflection in the train's window stiffened, though her posture remained a disinterested lounge. She made an indiscriminate sound in response, refusing to turn back toward them.

"Who?" Tracey asked Daphne in a cautious undertone.

"Draco Malfoy. Prince of Purebloods and Heir to Basically Everything Worth Having," The dark-skinned boy replied, helping himself to the seat on Tracey's other side. He tried to wink, but both inky black eyes closed.

"Oh."

"Blaise Zabini," the boy stuck out a long-fingered hand. "Embodiment of charm and dream come true." He brushed a kiss across her knuckles without breaking eye contact. Tracey felt her face flame.

"You'll be happier if you don't listen to a word he says," Daphne remarked primly.

"The Notts are here," said another brunette across the train car. Baby fat encased her face and hands, but the effect was lessened given the two hulking boys next to her. Her blunt bangs highlighted her blunt jaw rather than shaping her face. "Who's that with them?"

Tracey, Daphne, and Blaise piled onto the bench between the brunettes.

The crowded platform below the window had gone eerily silent and still, parting before an austere dark-haired man with a well-groomed beard shadowing his jaw. The hair by his temples flashed silver. A girl, her mass of nearly black curls falling loose from a high chignon, strode along on the man's right arm. A dark-haired boy followed a step or two behind on the man's left. He pushed a trolley with two trunks and a little grey owl. The boy's curls bounced against his eyebrows with each step. From her angle, Tracey couldn't make out much of the fourth person. All she could see were snatches of a snowy owl, straight dark hair, pale skin, and light catching on glasses.

"Why is everyone staring-"

"Tracey, mia bella, clearly you were born under a rock, which is fine, we all have our little flaws, but those are the _Notts_ , and they just showed up with someone in tow."

Daphne swooped in before Tacey could retort. "No, no, he's right. The Notts are… Well, they don't exactly invite… camaraderie..." The brunette with the bad bangs snorted expressively.

The little family had stopped beside the train, giving no indication they even noticed the effect their entrance had on the crowd jostling for a better view.

"They seem…"

"Theodore and Hermione are all right," Daphne allowed. "Kind of aloof. Sometimes awkward. They keep to themselves, you understand. But… It's best not to mess with them. The family is… Well, no one's really _sure_ , of course, but they're…"

"Darker than a Hebridean Black Dragon and thrice as good with gold," Blaise finished.

The dark haired man gripped the shoulders of the curly-haired boy for a moment before pressing a kiss to his forehead. Tracey could see the actual ripples as people in the crowd turned to whisper to each other and point. The girl cast a glance around the platform before she stepped forward for her forehead kiss.

"Yeah, yeah, ooh the Notts. So scary. _Seriously_ , though. _Who_ is that messy kid with them?" Pansy demanded.

The little family turned to the second boy, who stood fidgeting while his gaze darted about the platform every few seconds. The man offered his hand.

"Holy _shite_ ," the chubby brunette breathed.

No one bothered to correct her. The man levitated the three trunks onto the train. Tracey's cheekbone twinged as she pressed her face closer to the glass.

"Where is Draco!? Are the Malfoys seeing this!?" Pansy's voice had gotten a bit shrill.

"We'll find out in a moment. Who saw them last?" Daphne demanded. Her head snapped to her right. "You two! What do you know about this?" The two boys shrank back slightly and shrugged.

"Millicent!"

"He wasn't at the summer thing last month. And Draco was escorting Hermione around as usual!"

"Wait! _There_ they are." All eyes snapped back to the platform.

A tall blond man exchanged handshakes with Lord Nott.

"So does this mean…"

"What are you all staring at?" came an imperious voice from the end of the carriage. The curly haired girl from the platform stood framed in the doorway. Her brow was furrowed and a frown tugged on her lips.

~*TNT*~

"Sooo…" Theo breathed deeply through his nose. He felt Hermione stiffen at the saccharine tone of Pansy's voice. "Where's your new friend?" Walking across the platform with Harry Potter had been nothing but trouble. He'd never seen Father so tense.

Draco's head whipped around from the next booth. A little trail of smoke wafted over his shoulder from the rousing game of exploding snap he was playing with his lackeys and Zabini. "What new friend?"

"The one they were with when they got onto the platform," Pansy supplied with obvious relish. Daphne and the blonde girl next to her watched carefully from the bench across the aisle.

"He's hardly our friend. We only just met him," Hermione muttered. Theo nudged her, but it was too late. Pansy leaned closer across the table, her eyes flashing.

"Is that why he's not sitting with us?"

So much for rising above the gossip and not adding to the rumors. Then again, Hermione hardly ever listened to Father.

"Vince, your sleeve's on fire," Zabini stated.

"AAARRRRGGHH!" Crabbe lurched to his feet, shoved the Italian unceremoniously to the floor, and flapped his flaming sleeve about wildly. Goyle leaped up to tackle the other boy.

Hermione snickered.

"You should probably change…" Daphne offered, observing the chaos down the bridge of her narrow, slightly scrunched nose. The blonde on her right's eyes darted between the thrashing boys and her seatmate, clearly terrified by the fluent swearing coming from the rich, burgundy carpeting.

Politely disdainful silence fell as the shorter boy finally shoved Greg off. He stumbled into Blaise, who was bent over to dust off his slacks, and nearly knocked the Italian over. Crabbe ignored the compartment at large; yanked his black, silver-banded trunk off the luggage rack; and proceeded to rip the neat contents apart for a second shirt. Each girl demurred when a pair of black boxer briefs tumbled over the side along with several pairs of grey socks. The Bulstrode girl at the far end of the compartment did glance over curiously from behind the fringe of her hair when Crabbe stormed out to change in the train car bathroom.

Silence.

" _What_ new friend?" Draco demanded again.

Theo sighed, made eye contact with Goyle, and flicked his eyes to Crabbe's still overflowing trunk.

"Walking together does not imply _friendship_ , Draco," Hermione retorted.

"You _never_ walk with people!"

"Well, that's ludicrously inaccurate." Theo gave her shoulder another 'drop it' nudge.

"Alright, fine. You never walk with _other_ people!"

She enjoyed taunting Draco far too much to listen to reason. " _Other_ is a rather non-specific qualifier, don't you think? Other than _whom_? And anyway your initial premise is flawed given that I walk with _any number_ of people fairly regularly."

The door at the end of the compartment slid back open, and a harried older woman with gray hair fraying out of its bun hustled in. She dragged an empty trolley along behind her. The hands which had jumped to pockets and purses paused.

The woman noticed and smiled apologetically. "Sorry dears, a boy a few compartments back wiped me clean out. I should be back through once I restock!"

The woman disappeared through the other door when a squeak at the end of the compartment drew everyone's attention.

"Clean out!?" Crabbe wailed, his slightly charred dress shirt crumpled in his fist.

Draco leaped to his feet, their debate momentarily forgotten. "Seems a bit selfish if you ask me... Shall we go find this ponce and see if he'll share?" The blond strode away, Goyle falling mutely into step behind him.

Theo watched them go, his lips thin.

Barging off to confront an unknown enemy? He'd thought he'd had a stronger influence on the Malfoy heir.

"He's got Crabbe and Goyle," Hermione offered in an undertone.

"Do you suppose this means I win by default?" the Italian asked no one in particular. He eyed the small pile of coins amid the ashes of their card game.

"I honestly rather doubt he'll notice," Hermione replied. Theo poked her. It was bad enough she'd used 'whom' properly; they did _not_ need to draw any more attention to themselves.

"Yes… He's not terribly observant, our fair prince…" Zabini replied, drifting closer to lean a hip and elbow against the back of the seat across the table from the twins. He flashed an encouraging smile despite Theo's frown.

"Though he _would_ notice a new addition to our circle," Pansy cut in. Zabini winced delicately and glanced away. Behind Pansy, Daphne smiled thinly with narrowed eyes.

"Would he?" Theo replied, wrapping a repressive arm around his annoyed sister.

"Well, _Draco_ clearly didn't recognize him," Pansy insisted, fishing.

Theo hummed in response, turning to gaze disinterestedly out the window over Hermione's head.

"What I'm sure Pansy _means_ to say is we're all a little taken aback by a potential new addition to our acquaintance… They would have to be interesting, after all," Daphne coaxed. Neither twin replied.

"Just tell us!" the blonde next to Daphne burst out from across the aisle. As soon as she did so her eyes flew wide and darted to the floor.

Hermione sighed, ignoring Theo's displeasure. "Fine. It was Harry Potter."

The far door slammed open with a small explosion of irate, breathless Malfoy. "YOU WILL NEVER GUESS WHO CLEANED OUT THE TROLLEY!"

 **As you can see, I did not leave you forever. Just part of forever. But it's ok because I'm back now, and you can stop pretending that your life doesn't revolve around every word from my keyboard... And I can stop pretending that I can live without reviews...**

 **Speaking of reviews... I need them. I crave them. I may die without them, and then I really would leave you forever. Which we agreed you don't want... Speaking of things you don't want...**

 **QUIZ TIME!**

 **Admit it. You missed the quizzes more than me...**

 **I (the reader) will now:**

 **A) REVEIW because a year was way too long and ~A. Slytherin must remain alive until my fic needs have been satiated.**

 **B) REVEIW because ~A. Slytherin require a pseudo-roll call of readers still present, and there is no other way to accomplish this**

 **C) REVEIW because if I do ~A. Slytherin will write me a beautiful note in response and her sass is the sun to my theoretical chloroplasts**

 **D) REVEIW because I don't really know how I feel about my sudden loss of over 100 thousand words of content... and I have so many feelings that need to be expressed right now...**


	3. Fool, Cruel, and Ridicule All Rhyme With

**The Correct Answer was provided by: SeaWitch225:** E, I review (as a guest probably because ooh look I'VE ALREADY REVIEWED CHAPTER TWO, TWO YEARS AGO.) because I need to reestablish my spot as one of your favorite reviewers. *hair flip*

She really is, fam.

 **Hello, all you Glorious Clumps of Sentient Stardust. Lovely to have you back! To those who have expressed distress over the recent diminishing of the word count for this story: I did warn you... What did you THINK I was doing for the past year? It wasn't all revels and man harems... though... to be fair... that was part of it...**

 **To those who have no idea what I'm talking about: Suffice it to say "Twins" used to be 122k words and 25 chapters long. Shit went down. I tore it apart. Here we are. Moving on.**

 **Content: swearing, tween drama**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or any of his affiliated nonsense. Let's all just agree to not sue each other, yeah?**

* * *

 **Chapter 2: Fool, Cruel, and Ridicule All Rhyme With...**

Thoros sipped at a tumbler of scotch as he idly perused his exhaustive records of the Rowle family. A pleasant sort of heat ensconced him and possibilities flit through his mind. Hermione had mentioned, albeit in passing, that Thorfinn Rowle, Torbjorn's boy, had been a bit obnoxious about the Entrance Ceremony. The offense was hardly worth ruining the family over, but nor could it be left unaddressed. If Hermione felt the inconvenience worth mentioning, it hadn't been a petty foible of an inferior. Notts could magnanimously allow those.

A smart rap came from the post window, jarring him from his musings. He snapped the ledger shut and returned it to its place between Ross and Rufford. Rising, unrolling his cuffs as he did so, he edged around his desk toward the little grey owl perched unapologetically beyond the wavy glass.

"A pleasure as always, Pethan." He eyed the irksome bird as she fluttered across the room to jostle Lugus from his branch on the correspondence stand. The dour great horned owl glowered through slitted, golden eyes up at the utterly unconcerned little female. Thoros left the correspondence window ajar. He'd offered his daughter a new owl any number of times, but she was annoyingly besotted with this one.

His irritation couldn't stand before the affection that surged through him at the tingle of his daughter's magical signature on the envelope. He left his wand behind his ear to unravel the layered spells by touch. There were the usual waterproofing, sealing, and stiffening charms for the foggy Scottish sky, but she'd woven a binding charm and a sticking charm together in the strength knot to hold the pages shut.

He undid the lot in about half a heartbeat, but she was _improving_.

He snapped out the folded parchment and settled into the leather armchair by the fire.

 _Father_ , she wrote in cramped, spiky letters.

He frowned and sat a little straighter.

 _I sincerely hope you are well. It would not…_

His eyes caught on the barely intelligible word directly below:

 _Suffer_

The parchment crackled in his grip as his eyes darted over the page. His daughter was clearly upset she tended towards inflated diction and dramatics when she got upset. Still… it _had_ been a week since her last letter…

… _receiving adequate nourishment… intellectual stimulation…_

His gut clenched at the neatly and emphatically printed line below the first two paragraphs:

 _I am not._

Rage boiled up his throat, begging to sink an obsidian dagger into _something's_ flesh… Preferably something responsible for his daughter's discomfort, but he'd settle for convenient proximity. Notts do not confine themselves to a single option, after all.

His eyes fastened on a word written in all capital letters and his frown deepened.

… _note from a professor for a SPECIFIC text to access any of the interesting books._

He forced himself to relax. To reread the first few paragraphs a couple times. Curious, he peeled the second sheet away from the first to find a neat list of titles. The authors' names all began with "Ne".

Thoros set the letter on the side table to rub the bridge of his nose. There was no indication that his children were in any _immediate_ danger. They were not being mistreated… technically… Everything was probably objectively fine.

He summoned his glass of scotch from the desk. She was just annoyed. He downed his drink in one. He was overreacting, but that could only be expected. He'd never been away from his children for any extended period of time, and he'd entrusted his children to a known adversary. He was allowed to be concerned… He just wasn't allowed to be rash.

Suppressing the surge of adrenaline by sheer force of will, he picked the letter back up.

… _first years are required to return to their common rooms by 9 PM._

He snorted. It didn't take a Nott to puzzle out the source of all these new restrictions. A small voice reminded him of the various activities he'd gotten up to with no enforced curfew and unimpeded access to one of the greatest collections of knowledge in Britain.

He shook the voice off.

This was different.

… _I would beg you to petition Tibby on our behalf…_

...but Notts never beg, he mentally finished what she'd left unwritten. A tiny smile tugged the corner of his lips.

 _The elves here seem utterly convinced that salt is the Earth's only spice._

"Salt is a seasoning, not a spice," he corrected to himself.

 _They have access to_ _Helga Hufflepuff's_ _recipes. Surely the Founders didn't eat like this? I cannot believe anyone can survive on meat and potatoes alone. Please refer to my list for suggestions._

He glanced at the second page. Wedged beneath the titles was a short list of spices, "the good salsa," and a cramped "Theo would like torrijas".

The tiny smile deepened with indulgence, and he flipped back to the letter.

They'd had their first flying lesson that afternoon. His smile vanished as his eyes flashed across the page. The Longbottom heir had broken his wrist because the brooms were so old they were practically sentient. This, of course, paled in contrast to the Malfoy boy openly challenging The Boy Who Lived.

His children, it seemed, in protest of Draco's idiotic behavior during the afternoon's flying lesson, intended to spend the rest of the day in the library.

* * *

~*TNT*~

By the time dinner rolled around, all the good gossip had been picked over several times. This did nothing to dissuade her social ward.

"But it's not like he'll be _expelled_ ," Tracey said breathlessly, her eyes trained on the Great Hall doors.

"Of course not. They're not going to _expel_ The Boy Who Lived," Millie replied. Daphne could sympathize with the girl's eye roll, but she didn't allow herself the indulgence of acting on the impulse.

"You're still on that?" Pansy's abrasive voice cut in. "I want to know if that horror, _Brown_ , is hovering outside the hospital wing waiting for crybaby Longbottom." She cast a glance further down the table.

Daphne followed her gaze, and she immediately had to suppress her smirk. Draco was deep in conversation with Vincent and Gregory.

Daphne patted Tracey's hand absently, a reassuring expression safely in place, before serving herself a dainty bit of shepherd's pie. Thankfully, the girl followed suite.

"Can you _imagine_ , though?" Pansy continued, clearly looking to get a rise from someone. "Lavender Longbottom?" She worked the tip of her tongue obnoxiously to exaggerate the "L" sounds. Daphne gave a delicate but dismissive sound.

"Behold. The triumphant return," Blaise said with a distinct sardonic edge as Potter and his ginger companion made their way to the other side of the hall and their crimson housemates.

The group glanced up as one, then settled back to their plates. Issue closed.

"He's still _here_!?"

Or not.

Daphne eyed the seething Malfoy boy carefully. She could feel Tracey tense on her other side. She couldn't reassure the girl, not when Draco wore _that_ expression, but nor was it her place to de-escalate. She glanced around. The Notts still hadn't arrived.

"But he left with McGonagall!" Draco said, turning on them when no response was forthcoming.

"Well, he's got to keep up his strength for those Gryffindor cuddle orgies..." Blaise replied. Daphne inhaled slowly through her nose, her eyes fluttering shut.

"Maybe the train back only leaves in the mornings?" Tracey offered. Daphne fought the impatience. Draco did _not_ need...

A bench scraped back loudly.

Merlin.

She opened her eyes.

"I'm gonna go investigate. This is _ridiculous_!" Draco marched off in high dudgeon, and Daphne wasn't sure whether it was safe to breathe.

"There's no way he got anything worse than detention," Millicent murmured.

" _If_ that," Pansy agreed.

"He's gonna lose it, bless him," Blaise murmured.

" _Here_?" Tracey hissed.

"Potter's with Weasley," Pansy said, waving a dismissive hand.

"Just because _they_ throw the first hex doesn't mean Draco won't _still_ get detention," Millie interjected.

"Like anyone's going to give _Draco_ detention," Pansy retorted.

"Here we go," Blaise breathed. Across the hall, the ginger Gryffindor had launched to his feet.

"McGonagall might! She doesn't like us!" Tracey whined. The ginger and the Malfoy were practically nose to nose. Potter lept up to grab Weasley's elbow.

The others hushed her.

"Oh… Wait…" Draco rocked back on his heels and crossed his arms. The two Gryffindors stood tense. Draco jerked his chin once. "Nothing. Damn," Blaise mourned settling back into his seat. "Well, there's always next time." He flashed a wink at Tracey. Both eyes closed again.

* * *

~*TNT*~

"I don't care _what_ you say, it was _still_ a waste of a perfectly good afternoon, and Papa will agree with me." She set her bag down with a clunk.

"He usually does," Theo replied without inflection, her ire and impatience zinging over his determined disinterest.

"Why does anyone even need to learn to ride a broom? No one uses them anymore, except for Quidditch!"

"Muggleborns," Theo shrugged, pulling out their essays.

"Then make it an elective! Or a _Saturday_ activity! Don't waste _my_ valuable time with rubbish I already know!"

Theo glanced up from his summary on the importance of crisp wand movements for Charms. "We already know the next two _years_ of curriculum..."

She ignored him. "And _then_ , on top of _everything_ else, they make us use _whatever_ those things were!" Her usual chignon was desperately trying to hold together despite the afternoon out in the wind and her irritation now. Sparks crackled blue in its depths. Theo could feel her annoyance whispering tempting possibilities to his.

"Brooms?"

"They most certainly were _not_ brooms! Half of them were sentient, I swear! How old would something as commonplace as a broom have to be to achieve sentience!? A warded book or an ancient estate, perhaps, but a _broom_?"

He rolled his eyes and bit back a retort. She'd already _said_ all this, _and_ added it to their letter, _and_ lectured him about it on the way to and from the owlery. His annoyance and impatience rolled and stretched without his permission. He could only imagine how worked up she'd get (and get _him_ by extension) if they'd actually gone to dinner and had _Draco_ within lecturing range.

"And then Draco's stupid thing with Potter. Obviously, _none_ of the Gryffindors have _any_ sense. _No one_ tried to stop him when he rose to Draco's idiotic taunting…"

"Keep your voice down," Theo snapped. Their magic roiled. He didn't regret it.

"What imbecile thought it would be a good idea to teach _eleven-year-olds_ how to fly after only a _week_ of classes? And then the professor goes and _abandons_ us, dangerous brooms still _very_ much available, _unsupervised_ with just a threat to keep us from doing anything stupid!"

" _Hermione_." He could feel her magic growing, swelling as it sapped his.

"Would you relax!? There's no one in here. Everyone's at dinner."

"Oh, and you know that because you've _checked_?" He glared her down. After a few seconds of eye contact, she dropped her gaze to the floor. Validated by her acknowledgment, he continued, "Besides, _I'm_ not the one who needs to relax."

"I'm completely relaxed!"

"No. You're not. So if you don't sit down, shut up, and _breathe_ for a second, something's going to catch fire or blow up, and I am _not_ going to cover for you when Father finds out."

" _Excuse_ me?"

"You're excused." He'd officially lost all rein on his annoyance.

"Now you listen to-" Magic burst from her threatening finger, but he dodged to the side. His shoulder hit the carpeted floor hard, and he almost knocked his chair over, but he managed to scramble into a defensive crouch behind the other chair and whip his wand out.

"Wait!" she hissed.

He froze. No approaching footsteps. No smoke. His shoulder throbbed a bit, but…

"Wait, what?" he demanded, not lowering his wand a centimeter.

She wasn't looking at him. "I only scorched it!" She flapped her empty hand toward the chair he'd abandoned.

Sure enough, a neat black splotch marred the varnished wood. He turned back to her. "You threw _fire_ at me? In a _library_?"

"It was an accident and you know it," she retorted, marching past him toward the chair. Theo did not feel her shove was necessary and rubbed his newly re-injured shoulder.

He couldn't help needling her. Just a bit. "It's like the size of my hand… Merlin! Were you even trying?"

"Shut up."

"I don't know if I'm proud or disappointed in you. Usually, you blow a hole in the wall when you try to hit me." His snicker flooded his voice. "I feel so loved."

"There's no _trying_ about an outburst, Theodore Demetrius Creon. You were annoying me, I was annoying you. Oh don't make that face; I could feel it. I just snapped." She turned a significant stare at him. He looked back at the chair in amazement.

It should have been in pieces. Hell, Hermione should have blown it out the stained glass window along with part of the wall.

Understanding broke like a full moon from a cloud bank.

"Accidental magic… the castle… I'll start in histories and school records of incidents resulting in damage!" He couldn't help his grin. This was _so_ much more interesting than stupid crisp wand movements.

His enthusiasm leaked into her expression. "I'll see if I can find anything about the school's warding. Or maybe it's just the library?" Her eyes sparkled back.

Malice prickled through him at her childlike excitement… Accident, schmaccident. She'd thrown fire at him.

He caught her elbow before she could spin away to the endless shelves. " _First_ you have to clean up your mess, Mine," he said in his most condescending big brother voice.

She pulled a face. "Lose the smirk, Teddykins. Just because the castle did something to siphon off the outburst magic, doesn't mean it will do _anything_ to save you if I'm actually _trying_."

He flashed his teeth and darted off toward the school records section before she could do anything violent.

Like punch him for pinching her.

Or tackle him for stealing her wand.

* * *

~*TNT*~

No sooner had the wall melted away than the twins were beset by their year mates.

"Are you ok?"

"This must be such a shock."

"I would owl your father right away, Hermione. This is _completely_ out of line."

"If you need comfort in these trying times, mia bella, I would like nothing more than to be your shoulder."

Hermione fought to tamp down her confusion and stress in the face of this mob of comforting presences. She could feel the urge to throw up a protego tingling through her fingers. Theo was on the defensive too. His distaste and annoyance curled somewhere in her throat, spoiling any composure they'd gained from their time researching. She groped behind her for Theo's hand and returned his steadying squeeze.

Pansy cut through the babble. Both Notts tensed. "Surely such a slight will not be tolerated by your father... Is that where you've been? Having a good cry?"

The little clump of first years froze. Every eye darted from Hermione to Pansy. The girl lounged in the window seat to the right.

Theo's hand tightened in warning around hers. The reminder only sort of helped her suppress the urge to do something unbecoming and violent to the girl's face.

"As a matter of fact, we _have_ been to the owlery to post a letter to our father," Hermione replied sweetly, but with her chin raised at a defiantly regal angle. The girl could keep her face, but only because Theo would lecture her again if she did anything. Notts, composure, and all that.

Pansy's eyes glittered. She swung her feet off the plush velvet seat and leaned forward. "So, it's true then."

"The betrothal is off!?" Tracey yelped. "Just like that!?"

"Hush, Davis, the big girls are talking," Pansy snapped. She prowled forward without taking her eyes off Hermione's face.

"If you recall," Daphne interjected with deadly calm, "Theodore and Hermione missed dinner." Pansy paused and glanced toward her. "The duel was rather hastily organized. I'm sure Draco only named Crabbe his second due to his proximity."

"It would explain how _Weasley_ came to be Potter's second," Blaise put in, studying his nails.

"Draco challenged _Harry Potter_ to a duel," Hermione said. Her fist clenched around Theo's.

Usually, their anger was pretty well balanced. When they fought _each other_ things could get dicey, but for the most part, anger didn't cause problems. Annoyance, yes, anger no. It helped that they had opposite types of anger, Theo thought idly, as visions of drowning Draco in the lake danced in his head. He felt the same outraged disbelief as his darling baby sister, but _he_ didn't want to set the Malfoy heir on _fire_. This was fortunate for everyone because if he _did_ , castle or no castle, this amount of the same reaction could trigger a rather impressive explosion.

"You mean you didn't _know_?" Pansy sneered.

"They spent dinner in the library," Millie pointed out.

Hermione's hair crackled audibly. Those privileged with Hermione's acquaintance in their youth knew it was best to get to a safe distance.

Even Theo took a half step back, though he didn't release her hand. He couldn't have her running off to kill his best friend, and if she didn't calm down she'd start hogging their magic. They had _rules_ about hogging their magic.

" _Draco_ challenged _Harry Potter_ to a duel?"

"At midnight," Tracey squeaked. Daphne grabbed the girl's arm and tugged her back.

"Hermione."

"Callate, hermano [ **shut up, brother** ]," she snapped. "Where is he?"

"Mine." Theo's voice sharpened.

"No! He can't just openly declare war on The Boy Who Lived. This afternoon was bad enough, pero este es ridículo. Tiene _once_ años, not _six_ **[but this is ridiculous. He's eleven, not six]**."

"I don't know… Sometimes it's hard to tell…" Blaise commented with a smirk. His dark eyes roved Hermione in frank appreciation.

"Stay out of this," Theo snapped.

"¡Exactamente! ¡No es justo que temenos limpiar his stupid choices [ **Exactly! It's not fair that we have to clean up his stupid choices!** ]!"

Theo huffed in annoyance and grabbed her arm. This wasn't good. They hadn't been able to figure out why their spat earlier hadn't blown their library alcove off the castle. For all they knew, only the library absorbed bouts of magic born from tumultuous emotions. She needed to calm down and start listening to him immediately. "People are starting to ward for _silence_ , piuthar beag [ **little sister** ]," he hissed. She stilled in his grip and cast a wary glance around the common room. "He'll get what's coming to him, fine, but won't it be so much better to _savor_ it?" he coaxed, slipping fully into Nott Gaelic, ignoring their unobtrusively obtrusive audience. She made eye contact for a few heartbeats, then her magic coiled down beside his. He nodded. Crisis averted.

Then the common room door melted away again.

"You!" Hermione hissed at the blond who swaggered in.

Fortunately, Theo caught her around the middle before she could damage the guy.

"Where have you been!?" she demanded.

"Around…" Draco replied defensively, taking a half step back.

"Wouldn't take that tone, if I were you," Blaise said.

"Gu slaodach [ **Slowly** ]," Theo reminded Hermione in an undertone. After a deep, cleansing breath, her eyes never leaving Draco's, she nodded. Theo smiled around her hair at his best friend and gestured toward an empty clump of couches. "Won't you join us?"

Naturally, and to Theo's great annoyance, the others followed.

Hermione sat still and brittle next to him, but Theo forced himself to lounge, eyeing the blond who leaned with determined ease against the wingback chair opposite.

"Would you care to elaborate on "around", _Mate_?" Theo asked.

Draco cast a glance at Hermione before settling gracefully into the chair. Crabbe and Goyle lumbered up to flank him.

"I was simply out for a stroll."

Hermione snorted.

Draco, with the benefit of years of practice, ignored her. "I may have used the opportunity to explore a few possible advantages for tonight's activities." The blond crossed his arms and eyed Theo with disapproval. " _You_ weren't around to be called formally as my second, so I had to weave my wards another way. It's not like Crabbe will be able to do me justice if Potter somehow cheats."

Behind him, Crabbe flushed.

"I doubt Potter will be able to do much more than shoot relatively harmless jinxes at you." Draco grew, if possible, smugger. "I doubt you'll be able to either, for that matter." The blond's mouth opened for a retort, but Theo merely raised his voice. "We've only been in school a couple _weeks_. We haven't learned anything _lethal_." Draco opened his mouth again, likely to inform the assembled just how many lethal curses he _did_ know, but again, Theo overrode him. "Besides, I'm sure you have _no_ intention of breaking _any_ rules tonight. _Do_ you."

Theo tried to glare the other boy into submission, but Draco clenched his fists on his knees. Raising his chin to the patented Heir of House Malfoy angle, he replied, "Rules are for lesser beings and idiots who get _caught_."

The group descended into chaos.

* * *

~*TNT*~

"It's nearly midnight," Hermione yawned from his lap. He grunted. "If he was going to go, he would have done it by now, Theo..."

"You're right."

"Of course I'm right. Now come on. We can probably still get a solid six…"

"He must have snuck past us somehow."

" _What_!?" Theo shoved his sister out of his lap and wrapped his robe around his pajamas.

"Hermione, there is no way he'd pass up an opportunity to hex Potter _and_ a Weasley. That Filch plan was total tripe."

"You're being paranoid! Draco is in his bed like _we_ should be!"

"Paranoia is just good sense," he snapped. "Are you coming or not?"

* * *

~*TNT*~

Hermione was really an excellent sister. Not just any sister would abandon a warm nest of blankets and pillows to search a freezing cold castle for people who aren't actually there. Theo should have been thanking her on bended knee. That or checking her into St. Mungos because she was truly insane to be wandering a Scottish castle _in socks_.

At least they were fuzzy.

"He said the trophy room at midnight. He'd get there early, though, right? _Tempus_."

"There is no way Draco would suffer any kind of discomfort or sleep deprivation just for…" There was a crash in the corridor above and a distinct 'RUN!'

"You were saying?"

"I stand corrected."

The pair tore off down the corridor. Hermione paid little to no attention to where they were going. She doubted Theo had any idea anyway. He certainly didn't have a plan… though his lung capacity was rather impressive.

She was about to demand a halt and regroup when they careened into the Idiot Lion Trio in a secret passage.

"Gerroff!"

"OW!"

"What the bl-"

"Quiet! D'you _want_ to bring Filch down here!?" Potter demanded. He was half kneeling on Weasley's back, crouched and eyeing the tapestry at the top of the stairs, his wand out and ready.

"What are _you two_ doing here!?" the ginger demanded in a wheezy hiss. His bathrobe was down around his elbows, pinned in place by Potter's knee, so he couldn't draw his wand properly.

"I don't particularly care for your tone, Weasley," Theo replied, extricating himself from Longbottom's awkward embrace. "That's my twin sister you're addressing."

"I don't care _who_ -"

"Shut up, Ron," Potter said. "Did Malfoy send you?"

Hermione snorted, helping her brother to his feet and brushing him off before she bothered with answering. "Malfoy doesn't decide what we do. We were just having a delightful little stroll until _you lot_ showed up."

"Bullshit. If you get us caught, I'll never rest until I've learned that Curse of the Bogies Quirrell told us about and used it on you."

She opened her mouth to inform the impudent boy he couldn't perform the Curse of the Bogies (found in a lovely read by Vindictus Viridian) with both hands, the Elder Wand, and an instruction manual, but Theo cut her off. "While your tone was excusable given your inferior breeding, I must warn you that openly _threatening_ my sister is decidedly less so."

"We need to get back to the Tower," Longbottom murmured, worried.

"Right. This way," Hermione declared, heading back down the stairs. She could curse the Weasley when they weren't being pursued by a psycho with rheumatism.

"No way," the ginger said, planting his feet.

"We don't have a choice. Filch is back there," Potter said, straightening his shoulders and following. The other two Gryffindors fell in after him, casting wary glances at Theo who brought up the rear.

Unfortunately, they hadn't made it a dozen meters before Peeves exploded out of an empty classroom in front of them. The poltergeist squealed, sending a collective wince through the group.

"Shut up, Peeves- please- you'll get us thrown out!" said Harry.

"No, wait-" Theo tried, but Peeves cut him off.

"Wandering around at midnight, Ickle Firsties? Tut, tut, tut. Naughty, naughty, you'll get caughty!"

"Not if you don't give us away, Peeves! Please! Just let us go!" Longbottom pleaded.

"Should tell Filch, I should. It's for your own good, you know." He was practically bouncing with glee.

"Shut up!" Hermione hissed at the two. She turned back to the poltergeist and pasted on an angelic smile. "We were just trying to follow your good example and breed a bit of late night chaos… we really admire your work, Peeves. You're so clever. Won't you let us pass?"

The imp's little eyes glittered, and his broad smile was full of pointy teeth. "Such a rotten little liar. Little snakie trying to trick ol' Peevsie."

"Trick you?" Theo piped up, "No one can trick _you_!"

Peeves pursed his lips and eyed them. Then they heard Filch ranting to his cat further down the corridor. "You're going to get us caught!" the weasel one burst out. "We don't have time for this! Move!" He ducked around the poltergeist before anyone could stop him.

Peeves let out a shriek like a banshee. "NO, I WILL NOT HELP YOU SMEAR DUNG ACROSS ALL THE CORRIDORS! BAD ICKLE FIRSTIES! WHAT WOULD MR. FILCH SAY?"

They didn't wait around to find out what, exactly, Mr. Filch would say.

There were fewer doors off this corridor. In fact, the grey stone walls were almost entirely unadorned. Rounding a slight bend, Hermione nearly broke her nose when they collided head-on with a locked door. The ginger git immediately began to panic, and the other two pressed their backs to the scarred wood to stare down their doom in stark terror.

"Oh, honestly," she snarled and shoved them all out of the way before casting a quick _Alohamora_. Weasley hesitated at the horrid smell wafting from the dingy interior, but she planted her fist in one of his kidneys, and he stumbled in after his Housemates.

They nearly collapsed, catching their breaths and straining their ears to hear Filch's conversation with Peeves. Hermione found herself reflecting on just how much she enjoyed hitting Weasley amidst the cacophony of panting and rumbling. She was pondering, hypothetically of course, how best to get away with punching him again when a voice whimpered, "...guys?"

She glanced up and met the six yellowish eyes of a massive dog. "Is this the forbidden third-floor corridor…?" she squeaked.

"You'd think they'd've warded it better," came Theo's dreamy reply.

* * *

 **Some of this may seem familiar. Kudos to those with the memory to recognize the deja vu moments for the flaws in the matrix that they are... Basically, I kept what I liked... and then internet shredded the rest.**

 **Internet shredded here means "copied it all to a Word Doc then released said Word Doc into the abyss of my hard drive". If you would like to bemoan the loss of something... Feel free to present your case in the Review section or my Inbox and I shall dispense justice accordingly.**

 **QUIZ TIME!**

 **I (the reader), in accordance with the quid pro quo expected in fandom life, will now:**

 **A) Review because I am entirely dissatisfied with everything that has happened in the last 10K words. Such as:**

 **B) Review because I'm still not convinced this is real and what if it all disappears in the blink of my shining beautiful eyes!?**

 **C) Review because I got a response to my LAST review and it was so delightful I want ANOTHER *cue Thor smash***

 **D) Review because what's with all the Scottish? Where is my Spanish? What are these changes? Control Z this nonsense!?**

 **Furthermore: I will be in the UK for the next month where I will have no guaranteed access to steady wifi (Plus I'm pretty sure fanfic is illegal in Europe now...?). FEAR NOT for my beloved beta, LynEssency, will be publishing the next chapter in a couple weeks.**


	4. Those Who Get Even Lack Commitment

**Hello my darling denizens of the deep dark void! How are all my little voidlings doing today? Better now that Auntie Lyn's come to deliver another chapter of this story in ASlytherin's place I hope!**

 **Now I believe our favorite author warned you all last week, but just to be clear, I'm Lyn Essency, ASlytherin's Beta, and I'm graciously posting this chapter for her while she's off galavanting across the Irish Countryside.**

 **What? Jealous? _Me?_ **

**Of fucking course I am. _A_ _ren't you?_**

 **She's off exploring ancient druid holy sites and I'm stuck back here working in customer service. (Yes I did work Black Friday, No I did not murder anyone. Why, what have you heard?) Anyways! On with Business.**

 **The correct answer to last chapter's quiz came from Seawitch225** : I, the (best) reviewer, am reviewing because I look pretty fucking precious on my pedestal. *winks from high above*

 **Although in** _my_ **humble opinion SlytherinsFlower317 is a close second. Also, slim picking's ya'll. You could at least _try_ to give SeaWitch a run for her money. I know you're all much more creative than this. _Step it up kids_. **

**But ANYWAYS. Enjoy this next chapter. I certainly do.**

 **Content:** Let's see, um, puns, bad jokes, implied death threats, the Secret Hufflepuff Army, and-TROOOOOOOOOOOOOOLLLLLLLLL! TROOOOOOLLLLLL IN THE DUNGEONS! Thought you ought to know. *faints*

 **Disclaimer:** I am not Rowling. Though if Rowling turns out to be three esmerils in a trenchcoat we might have some things in common. Just saying.

* * *

 **Chapter 3: Those Who Get Even Lack Commitment**

~*TNT*~

"Good morning," Millie said, eyeing the Nott heir who plopped down across from her. His curls were crushed on one side; the bangs lank and stringy across his forehead. The slightly swollen skin around his eyes contrasted the pallor of his usually tan cheeks.

"That is baseless conjecture, but your assumptions are your own." She stared. Theo spread orange marmalade on the darkest piece of toast in the rack like it was his life's one sacred duty.

"Uhm…" She tried for a laugh, but it came out confused and strained.

"Well, aren't you cheerful this morning," Blaise drawled on her left.

"Thank you. I had a brush with three-headed death last night. I found it quite invigorating." Theo took a ponderous bite of toast.

"Don't be such a grump," Hermione admonished her brother, settling on the boy's right. She offered a serene smile that did little to brighten her face. "He's just crabby because I kept him up researching all night."

"Ah," Millie replied, making a mental note to never talk to either of these two before nine.

Theo's displeasure and irritation hung like a lethifold over the table. Of course, it didn't help that Draco was sulking a few seats away. Potter hadn't been caught the previous night, and the blond seemed genuinely put out about it.

No one, not even Blaise dared speak until the mail arrived.

"What in Merlin's…? Potter has a package!" Draco yelped.

It could have been the shattering of the tension or the way Draco's voice cracked on 'Potter,' but Millie felt fairly certain it was the neither healthy nor natural sound Zabini made into his coffee that had everyone choking on snickers.

"It's a broomstick shaped package, Draco. What _ever_ do you think could be inside it? Maybe if you asked _really_ nicely he'd let you feel it to check..."

"I'm writing Father." Draco shoved away from the table and stormed from the hall, Crabbe, Goyle, and the Notts hot on his heels. Theo forgot to leave the marmalade knife.

Across the hall, Potter, Weasley, and Longbottom were scuttling out with their contraband.

"Oh, I'm sure _that_ will be a productive conversation," Blaise chortled, pouring himself another cup of coffee. "Father," said Blaise in a squeaky nasal whine, "Potter got a broomstick. I want one too. Also, make them expel Potter, Father. He's so awful."

She laughed but cast a guilty glance around the table just in case.

"It makes no sense, though," Pansy snapped. "Why would he even NEED a broom if he's not on a house team? It's like they're breaking the rules just because they _can_." She shoved her bowl of half-eaten porridge away in disgust.

* * *

~*TNT*~

After _two months_ of basic charm theory, environmental versus situational magic, wrist movements, pronunciation, enunciation, and the limitations of manipulating the power to reality ratio, they were finally learning actual spells. Theo thought his brain might actually melt out of his ears and dribble down into his collar during the week spent on _Lumos_ and _Nox_. He didn't anticipate much relief for learning how to make things fly.

Usually, Slytherins took Charms with the Hufflepuffs, but the schedule had been rearranged. There was some sort of notice on the classroom door about an explosion in the Hufflepuff common room, but Theo hadn't read it very closely. The Gryffindors hovering in an awkward clump in the middle of the corridor held the majority of his attention instead.

"What are _you_ lot doing here?" Pansy demanded.

"McGonagall said our schedule was getting flipped this morning at breakfast," the Indian girl, one of the _other_ twins, snapped.

"Is it _permanent_?" Draco sneered, his eyes trailed insolently over the Gryffindors. "I'd hate for my education to suffer because I'm stuck in a class full of _idiots_."

"Sorry, but _who_ are those two next to you, again?" said a sandy-haired boy with a thick Irish accent. He might have been called Fabian or something.

The Slytherins drew closer together, glares flew between the groups, and more than one person drew their wand.

"Ah! You all got the notification about the schedule change. Excellent," Professor Flitwick's squeaky voice said from further down the corridor. Both groups took a begrudging few shuffles away from the door. "Couldn't swap with Ravenclaw, of course," he chortled, bustling through and unwarding the door. "We have the largest House in the year! In we go, in we go. Can't have too big a class for levitation! Chaos! Find your seats, now, chop chop, we're running a bit behind. Gryffindor is the smallest, so…" He spread his hands wide with a conciliatory smile.

No one else smiled.

"Right! I want everyone in pairs. Mr. Zabini, you're with Mr. Malfoy today. Mr. Crabbe can work with Mr. Goyle, and, Miss Parkinson, would you help Miss Bulstrode? Does everyone else have a partner? Wonder- Oh, of course, I forgot. Biscuits. Er… Mr. Potter you'll just have to do without a partner, I suppose. Mr. Weasley and Mr. Longbottom will survive. Right! Now, I want you all to find a group from the opposite House!"

No one moved. Theo glanced at his sister, hoping he adequately suppressed his horror. She nudged him and glared.

Apparently not.

"All right then, I'll just assign the order. First row!" Years of good breeding allowed Theo to suppress his groan. He and Hermione hung back, noses wrinkled, as each pair shuffled awkwardly to their designated desks. Crabbe managed to shoulder check the Irish Gryffindor, but Goyle got between them before things could devolve. "No, no, Mr. Weasley, Mr. Nott is left handed. Mr. Nott, Miss Nott, if you please?" Theo looked up when he heard his name. He cast an annoyed glance of commiseration at his sister before slouching to the seat Flitwick indicated. He and Hermione were basically ambidextrous, but the Crimson Cretins didn't need to know he favored his left hand. He sulked a bit, pulling out his books and slumping onto them.

"He can't be… Blood of Circe, he _is_." Theo glanced up.

Hermione sat visibly fuming on his right. A head of blazing ginger hair gave her messy chignon and forbidding glower an odd sort of fiery halo. "He wasn't joking."

"It's an hour, Mine," he whispered, trying to focus on measured breathing and calming streams rather than his annoyance with the Professor. He barely noticed when the little man waved his wand and a pure white feather drifted to each group.

"Now, I want each pair to _take turns_ casting the levitation charm on their feather. The person not casting will observe their partner and correct any wrist movements or enunciation! Then switch off. And remember, an agile tongue and fluid wrist never need a Charms assist!"

Hermione snorted quietly. Across the room, Zabini had a random coughing fit.

In the first ten minutes, one group set their feather on fire (twice), another went to the hospital wing with snotty vines hanging from their nostrils, and not a single feather levitated.

None of it dampened Flitwick's enthusiasm, though, and Theo was dying by inches.

"Concentrate, indicate, levitate, children! Swish and flick!" he called from Crabbe and Goyle's table. He stood on the desk by Goyle, trying to yank something out of the boy's ear.

"More like deliberate, approximate, self-flagellate," Hermione whispered.

"You mean miscalculate, exacerbate, evacuate?" Theo replied, a smirk tugging his cheek.

"No, no… I could have sworn it was 'motivate, aggravate, immolate', dear brother."

"Oh, I forgot about immolate… um, in that case: nauseate, detonate, obliviate."

"Stimulate, fluctuate, dissipate."

"Accumulate... consolidate… uh..."

"Regulate?" Hermione offered.

"Don't help me. Besides, I want four syllables… uh… regenerate."

"Be that way. Anticipate, facilitate, emancipate," Hermione replied almost immediately, tucking a stray curl back into place.

"How are you so good at this?"

"Marinate, masticate, regurgitate." Hermione smirked, twirling her wand between her fingers.

"Masticate isn't even a word."

"It is so! It means 'chew'! _Concerning Oversized Dark Creatures_ , Julian Highcountry, chapter 2, page 41: 'Giants native to Norway, Sweden, certain parts of Canada, and Greenland have larger skulls and stronger jaws to facilitate the mastication of their prey's bones for marrow.' Masticate."

"Gross. Masticate it is, then. Subjugate, legislate, liberate."

She sniffed. "How noble. Dominate, decimate, desecrate."

"A bit dark there, sister dearest… cultivate, educate, celebrate."

"Mine were all Ds," she said with a thick edge of smugness.

"There weren't established rules, but _fine_. I'll redo mine."

"Fabricate, fashion plate, fascinate."

"Quit taking double turns!"

"Bleeding Hell! Will you two _shut up_?" the Weasley hissed on Hermione's right.

He wasn't quiet enough.

"Mr. Weasley! Five points for your language!" Flitwick scolded, marching over. "If you have time to interrupt, I assume you have perfected your levitation spell?"

"No sir, Professor," the Weasel muttered, fuming. "The Notts were distracting me."

"Is that so? Well, Miss Nott, have _you_ , by any chance, perfected your levitation spell?"

They glanced at each other. Hermione wrinkled her nose, but replied, "No sir, Professor."

"Then I'm sure both your groups have plenty to occupy themselves with," Flitwick declared and marched over to the two Gryffindor girls.

"Plenty with which to occupy themselves," Hermione grumbled under her breath.

Theo nearly didn't hear her, though, because the Weasley gave an audible growl and cast the loosest interpretation of a levitation spell imaginable. The boy couldn't possibly be speaking Latin, and he swept both arms about like he was fending off invisible pixies.

Then Weasley's left arm collided with his sister's shoulder. The twins went utterly still and stared the red-faced boy down. Longbottom paled.

"Excuse you," said Hermione in a silken tone that promised violence.

"Yeah, what?" the Weasel retorted. Longbottom squeaked.

"You hit my sister. Apologize."

"Get stuffed!"

"Professor Flitwick, Sir?" Hermione called. Weasley's git face went two shades redder. His mouth dropped open in outrage.

Flitwick darted over, though, and cut off anything the boy might have said. "Yes, Miss Nott?"

Theo kept unwavering eyes on the ginger, refusing to even blink lest the boy give any excuse to start hexing.

"I believe I've mastered the spell."

"In two minutes!?" He smoothed his expression. "Well, by all means then, my dear."

Theo relished Weasley's grimace when she won five points for first mastery in the class. It _should_ have been ten for that sort of thing, but Notts don't concern themselves with trifles when there are larger weasels to isolate, intimidate, and incarcerate.

* * *

~*TNT*~

Neville was torn between nausea and paranoia for the remaining half hour of Charms. The Nott Twins said nothing, but a chill rose off them, and they spent the rest of class passing notes to each other and having silent discussions with their eyes. Ron spent it muttering and fuming. Neville didn't bother listening to him; however, he knew if _he_ could hear him then the Notts, who were sitting an arm's length away, probably could too.

Finally, once they were dismissed and they flooded the corridor with their Housemates, Neville allowed himself to breathe.

Of course, he and Ron were no longer within the safe bounds of a watchful professor, but if they blended in with the group, kept their heads down, and…

"They're nightmares! Both of them!" Ron didn't modulate his volume to accommodate the death sentence hovering over them. "Rabbit-faced, inbred, nightmares."

"Sorry… Who…?" asked Harry. The green eyes asked whether he should be laughing this off, talking Ron down, or conspiring.

"Well, during class…" He cast a glance over his shoulder. The first few green trimmed students bled into the hall. Both blonde.

"Is this about the Notts distracting you?" Harry cut in, turning back to Ron.

"Exactly!" Ron exploded. Harry ducked Ron's flail without breaking stride. "They're fucking about, whispering when I'm trying to _concentrate_! But you notice _Flitwick_ -"

However, Ron's bag split a seam, so his thought was lost in a cascade of quills, parchment, and books. Ron's inkwell shattered on impact; the crash obscuring the eruption of swearing. Neville grabbed Harry's sleeve and yanked him down and over to the wall. Ron, Seamus, and Dean had been splattered with color changing ink.

Beyond the arguing and arm waving, Neville could just make out the clump of Slytherins. Some were pointing.

"C'mon, Nev," Harry said with a tug Neville ignored.

A dark, curly head separated itself from the Slytherin clump.

"Harry, wait," Neville hissed, but the boy was already on this knees, ferreting out crystal shards while Ron mopped up ink with his robes.

Neville cast another glance toward the approaching Nott.

Seamus and Dean had left for the Tower, flecks of red, green, yellow, and blue winking in the flapping robe folds around their legs. Harry and Ron were trying to fit what they could into Harry's bag. No one seemed to notice the Slytherin.

The brave thing would have been to draw his wand… But... Nott didn't have his drawn… hadn't seemed to have even noticed him… maybe if he stayed still… He could hex from afar… And then he'd have the element of surprise too…

"You really ought to be more careful, Weasley." The boy's voice was velvet but pitched to carry. Nott didn't even look his way. Didn't acknowledge his part in everything.

Neville told himself his relief was because Nott hadn't thrown any curses yet.

"What's it to you, Snake?" snarled Ron. Neville's indrawn breath made a quiet 'eep,' but only Harry glanced over.

"Nothing. Just some friendly advice."

The Slytherin drew his wand.

Neville lurched forward; his stomach evaporated along with his heart and most of his intestines. He managed to get hold of his wand, but his sweaty hand fumbled with the wood and his robes. Harry and Ron had jerked back, and each of their hands flew to their wand pockets. They were on the floor, though. Drawing their wands, with their trousers taunt across their thighs, would not be easy. Merlin above they were going to-

" _Reparo_ , _Reparo_ , _Tergeo_ , _Scourgify_."

He stumbled a few steps then had to clench his legs together to keep from swaying. Also to keep his bladder in check, but details.

The reassembled ink bottle glinted on the floor; Ron's mended bag lay innocently across his lap; and the only ink stains were on Ron and Harry's hands and the wadded robe Ron had used to wipe off his books.

"Wait, but aren't-"

"Have a pleasant day." Theodore Nott's smile turned sinister for half a second before he spun on his heel and strode off after his classmates.

"What did he mean?" Harry demanded, eyeing Ron. He sat back, but his knuckles were white on the books in his lap.

"Nothing important," Ron grumbled, shoving things haphazardly into the newly repaired bag. "He's a _Nott_. The whole family's _mad_. Have been for centuries. Everyone knows that." He stood and slung the bag over his shoulder. He cast a disgusted glance at the robe wadded in his fist. It feebly flashed red, green, yellow, and blue in retaliation. "I'm gonna go… deal with this. I'll catch up with you, yeah?"

Harry clambered to his feet and made an abortive attempt to follow, but Ron disappeared around the corner. Harry turned on Neville with a frown. "What just happened?"

Neville let himself take a full, cleansing breath for the first time in what felt like hours. "He hit Hermione Nott in class and didn't apologize." He rubbed a hand over his face and tugged at his hair before meeting Harry's gaze with resigned disappointment.

Harry turned back to the corner where Ron had disappeared. He cocked his head to the side a bit. "I guess that explains…" Harry whipped his head back to Neville. "Hold on! No! That was a _threat_. I mean, I'd get it if Nott hit him or something, but…"

Neville clapped him on the shoulder, using the gesture to tug his best friend into motion. "Ron assaulted Nott's sister and didn't apologize, mate. Not even after a period of cooling down or when Nott helped him with his bag."

"I bet he's the reason the bag broke," Harry scoffed.

"That's not the point. You don't touch a Nott. _Especially_ a girl Nott. He could challenge Ron to an honor duel if he wanted to now."

"An honor… Like with Malfoy?"

"Worse. Think to the _death_." Harry jerked to a halt and whirled on Neville, but Neville cut Harry off before he could get a word out. "The Notts were among the druids cursing _Hadrian_ when the Romans tried to conquer in 128. You don't just… They subscribe to the old, don't give me that look, Harry! It would be completely legal. They're powerful, and dark, and… and… Merlin on a boat what if they tell their _father_!?" Neville moaned and rubbed a hand over his face again. "I was _right there_ , and knowing Gran she'd-"

"Can't we tell Percy or someone?" Harry asked, touching a cautious hand to Neville's shoulder.

"If Nott calls an honor duel there's nothing anyone can do. McGonagall might be able to help if he just calls retribution, but-"

"Retri-what now?"

"Retribution duel," Neville replied, waving Harry off.

"How many kinds of duels _are_ there?"

Neville froze, glanced at Harry, then let out a short, humorless laugh. "Right. Muggles. I forgot. OK. So there're technically seven types of duels…"

* * *

~*TNT*~

"What's scarier than a muggle with a torch?" Zabini asked, eyes blazing in the candlelight over the mounds of food for the Samhain feast. Hermione rolled her eyes at her mostly empty plate. " _A mob_ of muggles with torches," he cackled before anyone could answer.

Daphne inhaled so deeply her eyes fluttered closed. "Blaise-"

"You know why you never see centaurs hiding up in trees?"

"Because they _can't_?" Pansy snapped.

"No," Blaise replied, casting her a condescending smirk, "because they're _really_ good at it."

The table groaned.

Tibby had sent Mama Calandria's paella that morning. She and Theo had finished it in the library after classes.

This meal, this _conversation_ , was entirely unnecessary.

"What will it take to get you to _shut up_ already?" Millie moaned, rubbing her temples. "You've been at it all _day_."

"No, wait! This one's really good!"

Draco slammed his palm down, rattling the goblets. "Why did the Weasley jump off a cliff?" he demanded.

Tracey cast a concerned glance toward an uncaring Daphne. Pansy frowned and craned her neck a bit to check the Gryffindor table.

"Why?" Goyle asked dutifully.

"Someone threw a Knut," Draco replied, his eyes slitted from the way his malicious smirk bunched his cheeks.

It startled a laugh out of even Blaise, who rallied. "You _dare_ challenge the Master of Mischievous!?" He brandished his lamb shank. "Which side of a Phoenix has the most feathers!?"

"...The lef-"

"WRONG!" Blaise swung the shank toward Tracey, cutting her off and sending droplets of grease and gravy flying. Daphne wiped her cheek with a pointed glare. Blaise ignored her. "THE OUTSIDE!"

"OH YEAH!?" Draco's face had flushed, and he'd half risen from his seat.

"We _have_ to go, you said," Hermione grumbled in a mocking version of Theo's voice. "There'll be _questions_ if we don't. What if we need an _alibi_?"

"WELL, HOW DO YOU BEFRIEND A WEASLEY!?"

"Trick question! You don't!" Pansy interrupted with an eager expression.

Draco wilted a bit and glanced down at her. "No… You paint yourself gold and act like a galleon..."

Blaise leaped into the lull. "What does a red apple have in common with a green one?"

"Everything…?" Millie asked, her lips fighting an open sneer.

"Silence, Millicent! They're both red! Except for the green one!"

There was a beat of disbelieving silence. All eyes locked on the preening Italian.

"Roses are red; violets are blue; I thought Squibs were useless, but then I met you," Pansy declared. Draco's entire face lit up.

Blaise bared his teeth. "How many Gryffindors does it take to stir a cauldron?" The group looked intrigued for the first time since lunch. Blaise smirked, holding them rapt for a moment to pose for the delivery. "One. He puts the rod in, and the world revolves around him."

"What do you call a Weasley with half a brain?" Draco called into the snickering.

"What?" Hermione asked, fighting for composure.

"Gifted."

The group dissolved into full peals of laughter.

"What do you call a bunch of muggles rolling down a hill?" Crabbe interjected, his excitement palpable in his grin. No one had the breath to respond. "A mudslide!"

Slowly, the Slytherins managed to regain some semblance of composure after a sharp look from one of the prefects. The look had to be supplemented by a caramel apple flung in their direction.

The group resumed eating. No one dared make eye contact and smirks haunted eyes and mouths.

"What's scarier than a Ravenclaw with a dictionary?" Blaise whispered.

"TROOOOOLLLLL! IN THE DUNGEON! TROOOOOLL!" Professor Quirrell collapsed against the teacher's table, right in front of Dumbledore. "Thought you ought to know." His whimper was suddenly the only thing audible in the ringing silence.

* * *

~*TNT*~

"Alright, you ankle biting disaster zones!" Thorfinn Rowle's voice cut across the hysteria clogged corridor as only a walking beacon of testosterone and human growth hormone could. "If you want to survive, then you will shut up and keep against the left wall, or I swear on the soul of Salazar I'll-"

Blaise enjoyed being alive. It was one of his favorite things about himself.

"ROWLE!" The other seventh-year prefect, Liz Tuttle, yelled. "No threatening the firsties!"

Any idiot with a functioning magical core could be alive, of course.

"Farley! Right side of the column! You and Pucey have the Seconds!"

But Blaise felt he carried it off with a certain flair.

"Whiddon! Where is Bainbridge? You two have the Thirds! Do NOT let Bole do anything idiotic!"

"Professors! Backs to the wall, people! Now! Now! Now! You're a blight on the name of Slytherin and don't-"

"ROWLE!"

Blaise noted Professor Snape's absence in the clump of teachers and ghosts that rushed past without a word.

Wherever the man was, Blaise admired his commitment to his priorities.

"Why are we going _toward_ where the troll was last sighted?" Millie whimpered.

"Because trolls eat soft little princesses, and this one's probably hungry," Rowle snapped. "Now let's _move_!"

"Rowle…" came Tuttle's long-suffering response from the head of the column.

"We do _not_ have time to coddle the meat, Lizzie. Everyone is getting to the Common Room, or they're answering to me."

"PUFFS!" one of the prefects shouted. Blaise glanced back. The five silver bars on her lapel proclaimed her Bainbridge.

A troop of yellow trimmed students marched past in ranks of three: first, second, and third years in the middle. Blaise cocked his head to the side.

"Brigade commanders keep eyes on your people at all times! I want all underpuffs accounted for at _each_ junction! Hufflehuddle for roll call once we're back in the den! _No_ exceptions!"

Blaise hadn't had much interest in Hufflepuffs… but there was certainly something to be said for any group that managed to maintain flair where he could not. His musings on his lamentably increasing flairlessness in survival situations were interrupted by Millie's nervous hiss.

"Did they just say… Brigade commanders…?"

Blaise wasn't able to answer immediately because Crabbe and Parkinson were doing everything in their considerable power to speed him along. He understood their haste, of course, but Blaise Zabini rushed for no one.

"Well that's just it, Millicent," He replied, adjusting his cuffs.

Their Housemates broke into a run once they reached the corridor to their common room. Blaise found himself swept away in the rush.

Once the common room had been safely sealed and everyone had draped themselves over various pieces of furniture, Millie finally panted, "What's just it?"

"The only thing scarier than a Ravenclaw with a dictionary?" Millicent curled her lip, but he couldn't hold back his grin. "A Hufflepuff with something to defend."

"Where are the Notts?" Tracey suddenly asked.

* * *

~*TNT*~

" _I_ wanted to call a retribution duel," Hermione muttered as the two Notts slunk along the corridor.

"And then you saw _reason_ and agreed to do it _my way_ ," Theo retorted.

"Well, I couldn't very well openly defend my _own_ honor!" Hermione snapped. "Can you imagine the look on Papa's face? Or, mages forbid, Lady _Malfoy's_!?"

Theo stopped dead in the middle of the corridor to confront his baby sister. "Oh, and having to explain to McGonagall or Snape or the bloody headmaster why I'm standing over the git's hexed remains at dusk would have been so much _better_? Do you even know what 'don't draw attention to yourselves' means!?"

"Says the boy sneaking away from his classmates to rescue some Gryffingit who may not even _be_ where we left him. It's the first-floor girl's lavatory, Theodore, not a remote broom closet lost to time!"

"Don't pin this on me. You're here _too_ , you'll notice. Besides, I bet you my weight in galleons that Rowle didn't even bother with a roll call. We'll be- Mo chreach **[dammit (literally 'my ruin')]**!"

Hermione opened her mouth, likely to tell him to watch his language, but he grabbed her arm and yanked her into the passage behind the tapestry next to them.

"Would you care to-"

"Shush. Someone's coming." Hermione fell silent with a glower, and she flounced away to settle on the stone steps behind him. Theo held his breath.

"How in the name of Godric are we supposed to find him, Harry?" The whisper was not quiet.

The twins shared a glance.

"Caoch **[shit]** ," Hermione muttered. He waved a suppressing hand in her general direction while staring at the back of the tapestry like he could see through it if he tried hard enough.

"Well, we can't just leave him!"

"What was that?"

There was absolutely no time to process before Theo, for the second time in as many months, found himself knocked to the floor of a secret passage while tangled in the arms of the Longbottom heir.

"What the-"

"Not a word," his baby sister hissed in the tone she used to cut arguments with Draco short.

Potter froze, then slowly nodded, raising his empty hands in surrender. He craned his head backward. She had her wand drawn. Such a good baby sister.

Boot heels clicked down the corridor behind them.

Shoving Longbottom off him and nearly cracking heads with the Boy Who Had No Concept of Situational Awareness, Theo peeked past the tapestry and caught a glimpse of Snape before the batlike professor turned the corner.

"What's he doing up here?" Harry demanded in his ear. "The troll's in the dungeons."

"The better question," Hermione interrupted, eyeing the Gryffindors with practiced hauteur while he scrambled for personal space, "is what are you two doing down here? Unless I'm very much mistaken, you belong in a tower."

"We're a few floors above the dungeons," Longbottom pointed out quietly. He had his hands up but refused to look at her wand.

Theo eyed him. The boy met his gaze for a few seconds if only to confirm the fact he'd _intentionally_ contradicted a Lady, before looking past him.

Theo checked his twin.

He nodded in reply to her pursed lips.

"We misplaced something. We decided to retrieve it on the off chance it became irreparably damaged in our absence."

The Longbottom boy's eyes widened; his hands dropped a bit. Theo found himself reluctantly impressed.

"You're risking your necks for some stupid-"

"They know where Ron is," Longbottom interrupted his Housemate.

Potter's entire face hardened. Theo suspected his baby sister's snicker might have upset him. "We're coming with you."

"On your head be it," Hermione replied breezily, shoving her wand back into its pocket, then pushed her way past the tapestry.

Theo raised an eyebrow and waved the two Gryffindors after her.

"Where are you hiding him?" Potter raged in an undertone, casting glares over his shoulder. "If you hurt him I swear I'll-"

"I'm sure young Weasley is in perfect health. This is merely a precaution," Theo soothed. He noted the hand Longbottom deliberately brushed against Potter's arm.

"We _could_ have put him in with the Cerberus," said Hermione.

"The _what_?"

"Once we agreed I wouldn't call a retribution duel, Hermione suggested Ronald might benefit from renewing his acquaintance with the dog we met last month."

"You… You.."

"To be fair, I was mostly kidding," Hermione said, her nose in the air.

The four stopped dead.

"So, in the spirit of our new-found camaraderie," Theo started, only to stop dead. Harry snorted, but there was a 12-foot mountain troll staring at them from the other end of the hallway, so he refrained from comment. "You'll find your ginger about halfway down this corridor in the girl's lavatory." The troll seemed to be contemplating them. "Third stall."

"He may have to forgo his trousers if he wants to leave," Hermione added, taking Theo's hand.

"Why are you telling us this?" Longbottom squeaked.

"Because we won't be joining you," Theo replied faintly. "We don't particularly like Weasley, you know. Frightful bore."

"What!?" Harry yelled.

The troll let out a rumble of some kind and began a lumbering shuffle toward them.

"Yes... Unfortunately, we'll be far too busy leading the troll away. Hopefully, we'll encounter some teachers," Hermione replied grimly.

"You're…"

"Going to do something unforgivably stupid, yeah. As Gryffindors, I thought you'd be familiar with the concept," Hermione snapped. "Now get behind that statue, don't ask questions, don't argue, and tell your idiotic _friend_ he probably owes us his life. Not to _mention_ you two." She shoved the two out of the troll's line of sight, then sent a steady stream of red sparks from the tip of her wand and turned to flee.

"I don't believe I've ever done anything this stupid," Theo panted next to her. "I can't really see the appeal."

"We have the three Gryffinidiots in our debt, _and_ they won't get us detention for sticking Weasley to a toilet for six hours. Now focus," Hermione spat. "We have until the Entrance Hall to come up with a reason for being out of our Common Room."

"We should have skipped the feast," Theo reflected. "Then we could have said we were in the library."

"Must I do _everything_ myself!?" Hermione snarled, yanking on his hand.

The troll was gaining on them.

"It smells truly terrible," Theo commented. "Though I suppose, given the relative size of its eyes and nose in contrast with its ears, it probably isn't aware of its own stench. Do they scent mark?"

"You are _utterly_ useless. Get down!" She shoved him to the floor and his shoulder collided with the grand staircase banister. He took a moment to wonder what about this _particular_ shoulder attracted his sister's ire.

Theo watched, like he was somehow hovering over his own body, while his baby sister blew out a baluster. It broke unevenly in her haste. The balustrade looked like it was missing a tooth.

The troll roared.

Theo noted that, while uneven and a truly repulsive shade of yellow, the troll possessed all of its teeth.

Hermione shoved his head down, which was quite rude of her, so he couldn't see what exactly she did. A heartbeat or two later, however, there was an echoing series of clattering bangs.

The troll paused, then hefted its club and lumbered straight past them for the staircase.

Hermione murmured a tripping hex.

Theo didn't get to _see_ the troll topple down the stairs because his little sister yanked him up and away toward the closest classroom, but he doubted there was a single soul in the entire castle that didn't _hear_ its graceless descent.

"Remember that time you stole Draco's broom, and he pushed you down the stairs?" Theo asked his sister once she'd carefully closed the door.

She glared at him through the curls that had pulled loose from her chignon, temporarily mute from panting.

"Remind… me… to… kill you."

"Always so aggressive."

* * *

 **Oh man guys, this chapter makes my Hufflepuff heart so happy. It's so nice to be properly represented for once.**

 **QUIZ TIME!**

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	5. Counterproposal: No

**Dearly Beloved, we are gathered here today to celebrate my continued survival on this planet as well as my inability to abandon this fic despite being half dead. As it turns out, I am basically allergic to the United States, and should probably return to Scotland immediately. It has taken the better part of two months, but my body is no longer actively rebelling or trying to remedy its identity crisis by sending its immune system after its respiratory and digestive track. Whoo.**

 **I hope you all enjoyed your time with LynEssency... Quiz answers have shown marked improvement... so clearly y'all were doing something correctly...**

 **I love you all, but the correct answer was provided by SlytherinsFlower317:** because such a lovely and accommodating Beta deserves extra acknowledgment for saving us from the dismal fate that is having to await ~A. Slytherin's return for more tales from our favorite duo.

 **Expressing love for my beta is always a correct answer. Shameless (though true) pandering never hurts either XD**

 **So, much as you've missed MY lovely cybervoice, I know you've missed the twins more. Does it hurt my heart? meh. I sold that to pay for my useless degree.**

 **Content:** Implied arson, brief instance of implied, non-sexual nudity, endless sibling sass, swearing

 **Disclaimer:** A day may come when I am sued for copyright infringement, BUT IT IS (hopefully) NOT THIS DAY. THEY MAY TAKE MY LIFE, BUT THEY WILL NEVER TAKE MY Freedom to write terrible and excessively (probably unrealistically) sassy repartee amid underage children and then make no money after spending more time on this than my real job(S)

* * *

 **Chapter 4: Counterproposal: No.**

~*TNT*~

"I want to see the Cerberus again."

"The what?"

"Oh don't be stupid. You remember the dog in the closet just as clearly as I do. I accept that we couldn't exactly feed it the son of a Sacred Twenty- Eight family, but-"

"No, I said we couldn't feed it another _student_ because we would either be expelled when someone figured it out, or it would decide that _three_ students are better than one. Of course, I don't know _why_ I even _bothered_ to point that part out given you went after a fully grown _mountain troll_ the very same day..."

"We were fine. It's not like the professors even care if we live or die. And anyway, that was weeks ago."

"Oh, I think they'd care rather acutely and for as long as Father could manage to keep them on the edge of death after they delivered our bloody robes and whatever mangled pieces they could recover from that dog… If _any_."

"Fine. You can keep watch in the corridor."

"Why the sudden interest in things that want to kill us? We have seven perfectly good subjects-"

"Oh, _now_ you're interested in baby magic and being spoon fed idiocy?"

"Extracurricular research for recreational purposes is _so_ much different than _visiting_ dangerous magical creatures in forbidden areas of the school."

"I'm _tired_ of reading about it. We haven't found a text that provides _any_ new information about them since September!"

"Which means we've learned it all and we can move on to-"

"The Hercule Zografos treatise-"

"Compares muggle and magical legends, Mine. You _know_ we aren't-"

"Ok, but the Greek muggles have _lore_ on it!"

"You _read_ it!?"

"It fell open in front of me. Was I supposed to close my eyes and slam it shut?"

" _Hermione_ , Father said we-"

"Greek muggles believe their death god keeps a cerberus as a familiar."

"We are going to be in so much-"

"He has a brother, the strongest of _three_ , who wields unbeatable lightning."

"...Lightning."

"It's how muggles understand wands according to Zografos."

" _Lightning?_ "

" _Not_ the point. When Beedle wrote "The Tale of the Three Brothers" everyone assumed he was talking about the Peverell brothers."

"That has never been conclusively-"

"Well, Cadmus Peverell had a three-headed dog for a familiar, and a thing for death."

"Ok, but that doesn't make him the Greek muggle god of death…"

"Zografos says muggles used to regard wizards _as_ gods."

"And then they started hunting us down and burning and torturing us."

"Well, yeah, but-"

"Besides, Cadmus' wife, daughters, _and_ his familiar were murdered by his illegitimate half-blooded son."

"Alkaios. I know, Theodore, but-"

"Alkaios wasn't even supposed to _exist_. His mother _seduced_ Cadmus. No one knew muggles can breed without binding, then the muggle woman's spawn returned, and it was too late. Cadmus _died_ trying to-"

"I _know_ the story, Theodore! The Zografos treatise says the Greek muggles believe Alkaios _didn't_ kill Cadmus' family _or_ his familiar."

There was a beat of silence.

"Well, of course, they think that!"

"What if they're right?"

"Hermione Caledonia Mel-"

"The proof could be sitting in a closet upstairs, Theodore Demetrius Creon."

The two eyed each other.

"Alright. Say it is Cadmus's familiar. How has it stayed alive for _millennia_?"

"What if it's slow aging like a basilisk? Or hibernates?"

"Or what if Cadmus Peverell _didn't_ have the _only_ three-headed dog ever in existence, and muggles are all liars?"

"I'm not saying they're _not_. I'm saying we should check in person."

"There is no way we're wasting our study time on that thing."

"Oh because writing essays on stuff we already know takes _so much_ of our time."

"Do the words "bloody mangled pieces" and "low profile" mean nothing to you?"

"What if I did your homework for you?"

"... Dead students don't do homework."

"Fine. I can see you're determined. Maybe I'll just have to ask Draco."

"Draco wouldn't do it."

"If I told him Harry Potter's seen and survived it, he will."

They glared. Each silently measuring the other's resolve.

"Fine. But we're easing into it _slowly_. If it _is_ a familiar, we have to bond with it first."

"So you admit that it could be."

"I'm hoping there are ways to avoid getting ripped apart on sight by an ancient, possibly undead, dog, Hermione. There's a difference."

* * *

~*TNT*~

"Why are we here?" Hermione grumbled into her purloined mug of tea from breakfast.

"Everyone's here," he informed her, shuffling knees, toes, and robes as the stands filled in with stragglers.

"Which means everyone _isn't_ in the common room or the library or-"

"Around the third floor?" he asked into the cheers as the players took off.

"He felt her shrug on his right arm. "That's another idea, I suppose."

He scoffed.

She craned her neck back to grin up at him. He refused to turn his head, but he could still see her. She sat sideways on the bench, her feet up and knees bent. Steam rose from the gap in her fur-lined cloak folds where her cup rested on her stomach.

He flicked his eyes forward to Draco's blond head. The boy was gesticulating wildly despite Pansy's very determined seat at his side.

Ice shot through his cheek.

He stared, insulted, at his baby sister, her finger cocked to poke again. "This is a sporting event," she said. "You are far too grumpy."

He rotated his arm under his cloak so his elbow dug into her spine.

"No!" Draco's wail and the roar from the Grimson wall opposite derailed his witty rejoinder.

"Something happened," Hermione commented, sipping her tea like she'd never assaulted his face ever in her life.

"Draco seems upset. They probably scored. Logic, Tiny Mione." She shot him an upside down glare.

"He's just annoyed Potter's playing."

Theo squinted up at the red blob doing celebratory loop-de-loops. "If you can call it playing. He's just been hovering there."

"I wouldn't descend into that chaos either," she sniffed.

Their box exploded in displeasure once again. The shifted; his lip curled.

"You've never played Quidditch a day in your life."

"You haven't _either_ ," she pointed out.

"Which of us spent practically every waking moment of their childhood in Draco's backyard watching him fly drills and courses for his father?"

"It wasn't every waking moment. And I'll remind you which of us has actually read any reference material on the subject."

He waited to catch her eye. She ignored him, observing the waves of displeasure from their side.

"It's not the same thing, and you know it."

"Did Draco's form not improve when he was finally allowed unlimited access to the Malfoy library _and_ his own subscription to _Pitch_?"

"Yeah, but that's also because perfection is the only acceptable option for a Malfoy," he said, trying to mimic Lucius' arrogant disapproval. "No nine year old should be unable to anticipate and dodge a simple block."

"Yet he's down here with us, and Potter's out there."

Theo shoved her off and sat straight, facing her on the bench. "Draco was forced to try out on the school's shitty brooms. _Potter_ didn't even _have_ to try out."

"Potter caught a clear glass ball in a dive on a shitty school broom."

"Why are you taking Potter's side!?" Theo demanded.

"Am not."

"Yes, you are." He scrutinized her defiant expression. "What did Draco do this time."

"I am _not_ \- that doesn't- Potter's just- Draco has nothing to do with objective facts, Theodore!"

"Alright. Pansy, then."

She flinched and looked away.

"Hermione…"

"Shit. Theo, look."

"Merciful Morgana, what is Potter-"

" _Potter_ isn't. That has to be a jinx," Hermione grit out. "It's moving too evenly for a malfunction, and it's too new to be sentient."

"Mo chreach **[dammit]**. How are we going to find whoever's casting it?"

" _We're_ going to find whoever's casting it!?"

"What. You-" The crowd gasped.

The twins glanced up to see Potter dangling by his hands.

"Well, it can't be a student," Hermione declared.

"We can't assume-"

"And we can't exactly tease out the logic, either," she snapped. "You wanted to save him. We're saving him."

"Teacher's box?" Theo offered in a daze.

"Assuming it isn't one of the parents," she muttered, shoving her mug at him and pushing past.

He caught her arm. "Where are you going?"

"Don't be stupid."

"You can't just-"

"It's not like I'm going to get caught," she retorted. She yanked her arm away and took off before he could object further.

He waited, clenching his hands in his cloak around her mug. His eyes scanned the stands restlessly as everyone else craned their necks at the sky.

It started as a ripple of movement, and a whisper of smoke.

Then came the screams.

He grinned.

McGonagall's voice echoed around the stadium in place of the commentating. "All students please evacuate quickly and quietly to the front lawn. All students, please-"

"Is that? Holy shit is that fire?" came a faint boy's voice amidst the echoes.

"Jordan…"

"HOLY SHIT THE STANDS ARE ON FIRE!"

Chaos reigned.

Theo fought his way down the benches to the set of stairs on the front left corner of their box.

He could hear Pansy in near hysterics, so he changed direction about halfway down to get to the rest of his year.

"Draco! Draco, please! We have to go!" Pansy cried.

"It'll be fine! They'll just freeze them. We're fine!" Draco shouted back, struggling to shake her off without tearing his eyes from the sky.

"I AM NOT DYING SO YOU CAN SEE THE END OF A STUPID QUIDDITCH MATCH!" she shrieked.

"You're not gonna die. Oh, hey, Theo. Tell Pansy we're not gonna die."

The tower to their immediate right spewed smoke as the coverings caught fire. Fortunately, it was one of the closed-off towers.

"Don't be ridiculous, Drake. We're all gonna die," Theo replied easily, grabbing his friend's unoccupied elbow. Blaise and the other girls had finally gotten to the stairs. Theo tugged on the blond. "I'd just prefer to not die _today_. Go," he added to Crabbe and Goyle.

Goyle wasted absolutely no time and yanked a seemingly transfixed Crabbe toward the stairs.

"He fell!" Draco's arm ripped through his grip, whacking a fifth year across the temple and knocking them off course before they could barrel into the hyperventilating Pansy.

Theo's eyes followed the flailing Gryffindor seeker. His heart clogged his frozen throat and heat billowed across his face.

He heard a whistle.

"He caught it?" Draco breathed, gripping the railing with both hands.

A Weasley beater had hauled Potter onto the back of his broom where the Boy Who Was Stupidly Lucky sat waving his fist around wildly.

"HE CAUGHT IT!?"

"Game's over, Drake. Time to go," said Theo, hauling Draco back with an arm around his waist.

Draco snagged Pansy's arm as he stumbled along backward with Theo.

"HE CAN'T HAVE CAUGHT IT!"

Theo took one glance over his shoulder before he shoved the Malfoy heir and the shellshocked Parkinson down the wooden stairs.

Sure enough, the Gryffindor team was in some sort of slowly descending mass.

A meek Nimbus 2000 trailed after them.

* * *

~*TNT*~

"Are we going to talk about it?" she murmured, shattering his concentration and sending his quill skittering across their Transfiguration essay.

He inhaled and exhaled as slowly as he could.

"Are you going to make me ask to what 'it' you're referring?" She handed him the quill cleaner in wordless apology.

"I set the pitch on fire today. That doesn't strike you as something worth discussing!?"

He balanced the pheasant quill on the crystal cleaner and watched the black ink drain into the sparkling white potion. "Not particularly, no."

He held up his hand before she could launch her counterargument. "Because we're in the _common room_. Because someone had the unmitigated _gall_ to attack the Saviour of the Wizarding World in the middle of the Hogwarts quidditch pitch. Because someone decided the best way to kill said Saviour was to jinx a brand-new Nimbus 2000. Because said broom wasn't released until almost a quarter of the stands were in flames. Because we _still_ don't have any proof indicating who the caster might be." He folded his hands on his essay and concluded, "Because our most likely culprits are either the parents present at today's match or the bloody _faculty_."

He picked up his quill, rapped it twice on the rim of the cleaner, and dipped it back into his inkwell. "So, to answer your question, Mine, _no._ I don't want to talk about it."

"Not even to Papa?" she challenged, crossing her arms.

He paused.

"I'm not sure that admitting to the intentional and malicious destruction of school property is a move Father would applaud."

He pretended to focus on turning 'transformed''s ruined 'd' into some sort of flourish.

"I wouldn't admit to anything," she snapped. "I'd mention someone jinxing Potter's broom. He's more likely to have answers than _we_ are."

"Why are you asking my opinion if you're so certain?"

"Theo!"

He didn't acknowledge her.

"Why are you being such a troglodyte about this?"

He glared at her from under the curtain of his hair.

"If we tell Father, what do you _honestly_ think is going to happen? Do you think we'll have a letter by Monday? Maybe a neat list of suspects ranked by likelihood enclosed with a short note of praise? Or, what? A copy of the Prophet opened to an interesting article on page nine about an alleged saboteur's arrest?

"Don't be stupid. He'll tell us to keep our heads down; to not draw attention to ourselves; to _not set school property on fire_ ; and if the Chosen One dies, then he wasn't the Chosen One." He threw down his quill in disgust and began furiously rubbing at the ink smudges on his left hand and wrist.

Hermione tucked herself onto the bench next to him, resting her chin on his shoulder and running her left hand through the curls on his nape. "Harry Potter got jinxed. What if he reads it in the paper tonight or tomorrow and demands to know why we didn't say anything?"

His shoulders eased incrementally and he laced his right hand through her icy fingers. "If it's in the paper, we'll say we had nothing to add and we assumed it would be moot. If it's not, well, we'll cross that bridge then, OK?"

"You spelled 'substance' correctly in line seven. I've been spelling it with two 'e's."

"Nimue's nuts I hate being normal. Do your own damn homework."

* * *

~*TNT*~

They'd moved to simple ingredient interactions in Potions, which meant more ingredient preparation than any sane person should be able to tolerate. Fortunately, it seemed very few in the class were insane (besides their dementor of a professor) and things progressed rather slowly.

"Powdered, crushed, pulverized, ugh!" Hermione muttered, throwing down her mortar to blow into her fists. "Why can't you just _buy_ the proper ingredients from the apothecary!?"

Theo didn't reply.

"It _does_ seem to be a rather lot of guesswork and grey area…" Tracey offered hesitantly from the other station at their work table.

The twins exchanged a glance. Hermione tucked her fists into her armpits and glared at Theo's loosened collar.

"The preparation triggers the innate magic necessary for the resulting layering, Tracey," Daphne corrected from the girl's left. "We've only been talking about it for _weeks_." She eyed the lionfish vertebra on her slab of marble.

"Right," Tracey muttered. She might have blushed. It was difficult to tell in the freezing dungeons.

Snape swept past them, casting a cursory glance at their crystal jars of prepared ingredients.

" _Powder_ , Miss Nott," he drawled. "As in _Floo Powder_. You have achieved gravel." He tsked. "If you require _further_ reference, Mr. Malfoy and Miss Parkinson's powder is both sufficiently fine and evenly ground."

"Yes, Professor," Hermione demurred. She growled under her breath as she returned to her mortar and pestle.

"We'll be home in two days," Theo reminded her in Nott Gaelic.

"Are you certain you don't want to ask _Mr._ Malfoy and _Miss_ Parkinson how they managed to attain such _exemplary_ lionfish spine?" Daphne asked, her face the picture of innocence, but her tone blatantly disdainful.

Draco had grabbed Pansy when she'd tripped during the mad scramble to escape the stadium fire a few weeks previously. Even Millie was thoroughly fed up with Pansy's determined adoration at this point.

"I'm sure I'll manage," Hermione replied.

"Well, manage in the next five minutes because we still have to clean up and label all our samples," Theo declared, wiping his hands on a rag before giving the lionfish essence he'd been working on one last decisive stir.

Sure enough, Snape swept to the front, flicked his wand at the board, and said, "Label all preparations you managed to _finish_ and place the vial tray on the first-year shelf. I expect no less than 36 inches on the gradations of solid ingredients to be handed in before the first class of the New Year. Be advised, I will grade _all_ preparation samples as if complete."

The room filled with the clatter of disassembly. Hermione kept doggedly powdering, ignoring everyone.

"How many did you get?" Millie asked, leaning a hip against their table, her back to the Notts.

"Six," Daphne replied. "But we didn't try to make essence."

Millie rolled her eyes. "Blaise wanted to try that one. I managed to talk him down to marrow, chopped re-hydrated cartilage, powdered, cleaned whole, and heat treated."

Daphne raised an eyebrow and pushed her slab toward Tracey. "You didn't try for slivered or cracked?"

Millie snorted. "Given the slivers have to be perfectly equal and the cracks have to be inked in with the correct constellations? Not a chance."

Daphne smiled and unobtrusively readjusted her perfect jar of bone slivers. "I had only thought the extra credit might appeal to you."

Millie's smile stiffened. Hermione refocused on her powdering. Petty politics were not supposed to interest her. Notts. Anyone with greater than Troll level intellect.

"Do you think anyone would notice if I permanently borrowed some lionfish venom?" Blaise asked, slipping up to their table and leaning an elbow on Millie's shoulder.

"Probably…" Tracey said, sliding Daphne's fresh cleaned slab back.

Blaise pondered that for a few heartbeats before tsking. "Pity. I think certain blonde parties would really benefit from temporary paralysis." He beamed and scooped the vials from Millie's arms before flouncing off to the first-year grading shelf.

Daphne pursed her lips and tucked a blonde curl behind her ear.

She shot a glance toward Draco by the sinks. "Be a dear and turn in our vials, won't you, Trace?" She headed toward the sinks without a backward glance. Millie smirked and returned to her own table.

* * *

~*TNT*~

"Hermione. It's the last day of term. Can we _please_ not spend it blatantly disobeying Father?"

"We haven't proven that it's not a familiar yet."

"We've been feeding it and spending time with it practically every day for almost a month, and we _still_ haven't managed to be in the same room with it for more than a couple seconds. If we just turn around we-"

"None of that means it's not a familiar. I cannot believe you'd rather spend time in the _common roo_ -"

"What can we possibly do _today_ that we haven't _been_ doing for weeks, and we _can't_ do after Yule? You already got us lectured by Snape for your obsessive powdering-"

"I spent like fifteen minutes on those vertebrae! Of _course,_ I was going to turn them in! Besides, if it _is_ Cadmus Peverell's familiar, and the muggle temptress's half-blood spawn _didn't_ manage to completely kill it, then it's plausible that it _couldn't_ have bonded with us."

"Um, no it's _not_ , because then it would be even _more_ impossible for it to be alive. Familiars _don't_ outlive their wizards, Hermione."

"Then maybe Cadmus Peverell isn't dead." She flounced off, leaving her brother at the base of the stairs gaping.

He charged after her. "Do you even HEAR your-"

She whirled and slapped her hand over his mouth, dragging him into a shadowed alcove near the doors to the Great Hall.

"I've _told_ yeh. Drop it. It's nothin' to you what that dog's guardin'." The booming voice of the Gamekeeper kept him from biting or licking his sister's hand.

He shot her a look, though, so she'd release his face.

"We just want to know who Nicholas Flamel is."

He raised his eyebrows.

"Potter," she mouthed.

"Yeah. It's just harmless research, Hagrid. Give us a hint!" Weasley wheedled.

"I'm sayin' nothin'."

"Then we'll just be off to the library! C'mon, Nev!"

The two edged away as the three Gryffindors emerged and trotted up the staircase.

"At least we know why we can't get it to bond with us," Hermione breathed; her eyes locked on the place where the trio had disappeared.

"Great. Problem solved. Now can we _please_ go back to the Common Room?"

"A cerberus _can't_ form a familiar bond if it's standing guard."

"Yeah. It's one of the many reasons your "the muggles might not be lying" theory is nonsense. Can we _go_?"

"No," She spun to face him. A stray curl whipped across his eyes. She ignored his furious rubbing and staggering. "What's one thing Nicholas Flamel might value so highly he'd hide it on another continent? Behind a _cerberus_ no less?"

"If you try to tell me there is a Philosopher's Stone in the basement somewhere…" Theo grumbled, dabbing at his still streaming eyes.

"That's _exactly_ what I'm telling you. Are you going to tell me _you_ don't want the chance to study one of _those_?"

"I swear you're going to get us killed."

"Don't be so dramatic." She waved him off, heading for the stairs. "The school can't let us die. Not with what Father would do to them."

"I _meant_ Father."

"What?" She glanced over her shoulder.

"When he finds out how _not_ low profile we've been and intend to continue _being_ …"

A grin split her face. "So you _are_ coming then?"

* * *

~*TNT*~

Draco stood a few feet back from the balcony railing. All the cooling charms in the world couldn't compete with the mass of humanity cavorting in the ballroom below. He shoved his silver mask farther back from his forehead and fiddled with his cravat. He'd finally cut his losses and escaped his classmates. There was no way he'd waste all that effort by returning, so it wasn't like he needed to care about proper attire… and he'd already abandoned his heavily embroidered frock coat… however, removing the annoying bit of linen doing its level best to smother him somehow seemed like one rebellion too many.

He cast his eyes over the party once more and tried to convince himself that he cared about any of this. Any of them.

Pansy's elaborate burgundy dress robes were readily identifiable on the dance floor. She had some sort of charm on her hair to make it look like snowflakes clung to the artful curls. In this light, it mostly looked like an unfortunate case of flaking scalp.

"The Notts bes arriving, Master Draco," Dobby's squeak returned him to a muggy sort of reality that smelled like sweat and clashing perfume.

"Finally." He waved Dobby away and trotted off to the secret passage that cut around the second-floor offices to the Grand Staircases.

He took a moment to adjust his cuffs and waistcoat when he popped out. A quick scan of the entry hall showed the two stalling off by the doors to the ballrooms and receiving rooms.

" _Took_ you long enough," he declared, bracing his feet and perching his hands on his hips. Mother constantly checked the lighting on the right-hand staircase, so anyone with light hair appeared to literally shine on the second and fifth steps.

"Awww. Did you miss us, Drake?" Theo called.

"Not at all," he replied. He descended as gracefully as he could while rote pleasantries flowed from his lips. His mind, however, kept up a mantra of _ball, bounce, heel. Chin high; back straight. I'm lighter than a phoenix in flight. I am born of kings…_

Hermione applauded when he alighted on the marble flagstones.

"Beloved," he mocked. He made sure his bow over her hand was as flamboyant as possible. He wished he hadn't left his frock coat on the balcony. Flicking out the tails added such _gravitas_ to a bow.

"Betrothed," she corrected. He caught the glint in her eye when she curtsies. He'd have to check his present for jinxes and he laughed at the thought.

"Mate." He offered Theo his hand and a grin.

" _I_ don't get to be your beloved?" Theo gripped his forearm. His fingers were ridiculously warm as always, but Draco was just excited Theo was doing the handshake.

They flicked their hands as if they were wet. "I only have room for one person in my frozen heart," he declared.

Hermione snorted.

"You have a heart?" Theo grinned. They ran their hands once through their hair: temple to nape.

"Well, technically Mother has it." They slapped each other's shoulders then stood there for a moment, grinning.

"Does she know you're wandering around in just your shirtsleeves?" Hermione snarked.

"You know, I think someone's jealous," he said.

She rolled her eyes, but let it go with the tiniest smile. "Do we have to go in there?" A black velvet domino mask with constellations embroidered in silver swung from her gloved fingers.

"My sentiments exactly, Beloved." He lowered his voice a bit to cut off her no doubt biting retort. "Let's head upstairs before anyone finds us."

"Bold of you to defy the wrath of the Duchess." Theo eyes his shirt sleeves and pushed back mask. Draco suddenly wanted his cravat gone again.

Instead, he scoffed and headed for the stairs.

"Especially given she alone apparently holds his heart."

"You'd sacrifice your beloved sibling to the ravages of the swarm of societal and ministry harpies in there? Theodore, I'm shocked."

"Hermione'd be fine. _You're_ avoiding someone."

"I am not!"

"Anyone in particular?" Hermione asked. He shot her a warning glance over his shoulder, but her eyes were fixed demurely on the skirts she held just above her slippered toes.

"I saved you from social vultures."

"Anyone we _know_?" Her eyes met his and sparkled.

"You owe me and you're taking _his_ side!?"

"You sound surprised, Drake," Theo taunted on his left.

" _You_ sound like you're forgetting a lifetime of friendship," He retorted.

"Says the boy who spent the last two months giggling with Pansy."

He hated it when she got smug.

No one got smug quite like Hermione Nott.

"I was not _giggling_. Malfoys do not giggle." He spun on his heel and stomped up more steps. "And you two should _not_ be allowed to double team a bloke. Bleeding terrors, you are."

The twins didn't seem to have heard the second bit.

"You know, Theo, someone really ought to break this to Pansy. If Malfoys do not, in fact, giggle-"

"I do _not_ sound like that!" Draco interjected.

"- then I really don't know if the marriage bonding would take for her."

"Well I doubt that would be possible, carina, but we should try all the same I suppose."

Draco huffed and marched off towards the library. "It's not like _you_ two have been especially available," he snapped. "I can't hang out with Greg and Vince _all_ the time."

Neither twin replied.

"And she's not _all_ bad!" He could feel their arched eyebrows. "She knows, like, everything that happens in the castle. Did you know Quirrell has been avoiding Professor Snape for weeks now?"

Neither twin replied.

"Well, he _has_. Which isn't really all that surprising, I guess, but _you_ two didn't notice!" They arrived outside the elaborately carved library doors.

"Draco," Theo warned.

"I'm just saying it isn't my fault. You two abandoned _me_. You can't just come back, do the handshake and -" He pulled his mask off and ran a hand through his hair. "Look. I just… With these past couple months…"

The library doors swung open. An imposing figure swathed entirely in black stood framed in candlelight and the light from the fireplace. The shifting sheen from the velvet and brocade he wore was the only hint of shape. His mask, plain black, had been charmed to confund recognition.

 _What is it with libraries?_ Draco thought. "Oh, excuse us, my Lord."

Masked eyes locked on him.

He pulled his silver mask back on suddenly chilled in just his shirtsleeves.

"We apologize for the disruption. We'll just-" He glanced at the twins. Their eyes were narrowed identically over lips thinned to practically nothing. "C'mon."

The Nott Family didn't hold with extramarital information exchange.

"The small parlor. I'll meet you there," he hissed, trying to urge them down the hall. They kept stealing glances over their shoulders, and it was making things worse. He needed to get out before whoever this man was dealing with came to see what was taking so long. Though he was still fully clothed, maybe his partner hadn't arrived.

"We haven't seen anyone else…"

The man cocked his head. Draco tried not to wring his hands or touch his mask.

"As you know, the elves can assist you…" Why was he still talking? He backed away. "...with anything you may… uhm, require."

The man inclined his head but otherwise stood frozen.

"Right."

Draco spun and fled.

"I'll never understand what the draw is for _libraries_ ," he declared, breathless, once safely ensconced in his private sitting room. The twins sat with identical displeasure on the couch facing him. He flopped onto the fainting couch on the right. "Did I tell you about that one time I nearly _ran into_ Father and Lady Greengrass?"

Theo hummed noncommittally.

"Well they were coming out of the Southeast drawing room, so I guess it technically doesn't count, but _still_!" He pulled the mask off and threw it somewhere. "And they weren't even fully dressed! Like… Father… I mean, his shirt…"

"We got you a book," Hermione blurted.

Something solid collided with his stomach. "A book?" he half gasped, coughing. It had been wrapped in paper patterned with galaxies. Gemini floated unnaturally closely to his constellation.

"It's about quidditch strategy."

"Well, thank you." He took his sweet time with the paper. He could see her leg bouncing from the corner of his eye, and he smirked when Theo laid a restraining hand on it.

"You do know we will probably have to leave in the next half hour, right?" Theo drawled. "Father was adamant."

Draco ripped the rest of the paper off with a snicker. "Your creepy Yule traditions, yeah." The book had an aerial view of a pitch etched in the warm brown leather. The gilt reflecting the candles almost seemed to make the little X's and O's move. He grinned up at them. "Are you two old enough to help carve out the muggle's heart yet?"

The twins stilled and flicked another glance at each other.

"We turn thirteen next year," Theo said.

Draco's stomach clenched.

"Right. Dobby!" The elf popped in. "Their presents." The elf disappeared. Draco tugged a hand through his hair. It caught on a patch of gel. The elf reappeared with the two hastily wrapped packages. "Right."

"Dobby?" Hermione's voice gave everyone pause. "Has Papa found the Duke and Duchess yet?"

Dobby tugged his ears and beamed at her. Tears brimmed in his unnaturally large eyes. "No, Missy Mione. Master Nott bes trying to find them in the ballroom, Missy Mione. Dobby knows Missy Mione could-"

"Yes, Dobby. That's enough." The elf bobbed a bow in his general direction, adoring eyes still on his betrothed, and vanished. "He'll probably be raving over your grace and charm for weeks now, so thanks for that," he grumbled.

"He's moved past her wit and beauty, then?" Teho snarked, accepting his gift.

"Only took twelve years, yeah."

"Oh shut up, you two. He's a sweet little thing. And house elves hear everything. I don't know _why_ you don't respect that."

"Oh wicked!" Theo held the new book to his nose.

"You don't even want to know how many times I had to send Dobby to your house to make sure you didn't already have something." He grinned as Theo tenderly fingered the cover and binding to one of the Malfoy accounts of settling Wiltshire. "That's like my eighth choice book."

"It's in archaic French, though," said Hermione. Her jeweled hair combs lay despondent on the velvet pouch. "We don't speak archaic French."

"I'll learn," Theo replied. He held the book at eye level, inspecting the vellum and the calligraphic style. The ink was faded, despite years of stasis charms.

"He'll learn," Draco said with a shrug. "It mentions encounters with Druidry, I think."

"No way!"

Hermione sniffed and tucked the hair combs into her wristlet.

Draco frowned and tugged a cuff. "Mother said emeralds would be too obvious…" Hermione hummed. "And you already have jet and onyx.."

"I'm hardly one to complain about diamonds, Draco," she replied, folding her hands and straightening her spine.

This seemed odd, given that was precisely what she seemed to be doing.

"Hermione…" Theo tried.

"No, no. It's not like we'd need two copies and you don't have enough hair for combs anyway."

 _Oh. Bollocks._

"I mean… I can have Dobby bring him the cufflinks Mother picked out…"

"I hardly think-"

"Drake it's-"

"Missy Mione?"

They turned on Dobby. He swept a bow. "Dobby bes so sorry for interrupting. Dobby will throws himself down the stairs if-"

"Yes, yes. What is it, Dobby?" Draco snapped.

"Master Lord Nott bes finding Master and Mistress. Missy Mione, Young Master Nott, and Master Draco bes required in the Southeast drawing room."

 _Great. Now I get to confront my parents and future Father in law with visions of a partially clothed Lady Greengrass in my head._

"The Duchess will want to see your combs," Theo's voice cut in, causing him to glance up. Hermione grunted her disapproval, but she shoved the velvet bag at him and turned.

"Dobby," Draco said, watching Theo work some sort of dark magic on Hermione's mane. "Find my jacket, would you? And take this to my room." He handed off his book distractedly as he went hunting for his mask.

* * *

~*TNT*~

No sooner had his boots hit hearth than his mind spun into frenzied action. He needed to be in the sacred glen nearly an hour ago, and she could be incredibly vindictive with this sort of thing. Not to mention that he still had to change into ceremonials, make sure the twins had their offerings properly arranged, and enter the evening's catastrophe of reconnaissance.

"What were you doing in the Malfoy library?"

Dirby, Hissy, and Rawlly stood at attention on the left. The room was lit by a few candles which probably meant they had already begun delumination. Good. "I want the two of you changed and ready to go in twenty minutes." He was halfway across the carpet, and he could hear Hissy's tut about his no doubt sooty footprints. That could wait. The holly and evergreen branches above the door were crooked. "Rawlly, where are the headdresses?" He spun and glanced around in case he'd overlooked them somehow.

"What were you-"

"In the young Master and Missy's chambers, sir," the little elf squeaked. She could barely hold eye contact. Each elf wore a sprig of holly on their uniform. Dirby had an entire band of it around his head. "With the rest of the garbs, sir."

"Good." He turned for the door. "Tell Tibby I want the offering doubled. Dirby." He heard Rawlly disappear as he reached the threshold.

"Father-"

Right. The twins.

"Hissy, you have the twins," he called over his shoulder. "Don't worry about full braids on Hermione."

"Aye, ma laird. Come awa' ma bairns."

"Father!we need to know-"

"Wheesht!" He remembered to breathe and keep his voice down. "Theodore, ho daes e muine muve?" He could hear his impatience, and on some level he regretted it, but they were late enough as it stood.

"En hits ain tid, faither," the lad mumbled, falling back a step.

"Dirby." His heir fell back another step. He swept out of the receiving room, yanking off the thrice-damned cravat as he went. The sound of the house jumping to his orders was some little comfort, but with every second, the moon edged closer to zenith.

"Master's trip bes successful?" the elf asked in Nott Gaelic, neatly dodging his over-robe, jacket, and waistcoat without surrendering his ironclad disinterest.

"More or less," he replied. To his immense shame, his Nott Gaelic was threaded with his usual posh Southern English. Dirby never gave any indication that he noticed, much less disapproved, but Thoros knew the old elf did anyway.

He had his shirt off before he threw open the study doors. "Pull archive, cross reference 'Malfoy', cross reference 'property', sub reference 'ill-gotten'." He threw himself into his great chair to yank off his boots and socks before starting on his breeches.

"Ceremonials, ma Laird?"

"In a moment." The ties and buttons defied him.

"Dictation, ma Laird?"

He temporarily abandoned the fastenings to grab the rough linen Dirby had left folded on his desk. "December 23rd, nearing eight o' whatever time it is. You can fill that bit in later." He finally got his trousers off. "Malfoy estate, Wiltshire, library. Ledger in question gone. No sign of magical or manual ward tampering." He wrapped the strip of cloth around his waist before pulling off his underpants. "Witnessed, unidentified, by Malfoy heir whilst departing. He seemed to assume I was there for an assignation of sorts, possibly sexual. No signs of suspicion while paying respects to the Duke and Duchess. End entry." He tucked in the corner of the linen and began working off his rings.

"Have someone liaise with the Malfoy elves. I want to know why that peacock moved his ledgers."

"Very good, ma Laird." Dirby dismissed the massive book and began mixing and grinding things he pulled from thin air.

"I'll need an excuse to be in his study now, Mother help me."

Dirby didn't look up from the wooden bowls he studiously arranged and rearranged. "Shall I-"

"No, no. Just the paint will be sufficient for now." He waved off the suggestion and sank to one knee on the thick carpet. The linen felt something like an aggravated gag reflex, but the patriarch of the greatest druidic power in the world did not scratch himself in mixed company.

Soon, the millions of thoughts and concerns faded to silence as calloused fingers traced swirls, invocations, and oghams onto his back, chest, and arms. His skin heated wherever the purplish- red mixture settled. He was fairly certain it contained either holly berries or mistletoe, but it wasn't his place to ask.

The elf bowed and set aside the carved paint bowl. Thoros refused to even twitch while the designs dried. He forced himself to focus on even breaths while Dirby took the folded tartan off the desk and spread it out for pleating.

"How is she?" He heard himself ask.

There was a pause.

"Well, ma Laird." The elf sounded cautious. "Only the usual winter settling. She should be quite docile for the offerings."

Thoros grunted.

Silence fell.

His knees ached.

"Your kilt, my Lord."

He rose in a symphony of popping joints and pulled off the strip of maddening linen, tossing the wadded mass on the desk.

The clock struck nine.

"Torcs," he barked. He practically vaulted into the middle of the pleated black, white, purple, and deep green fabric.

He could hear the elf unwrapping the furs around the thick silver pieces. Each was incredibly heavy and made of smaller silver rods braided and twisted together. He buckled his belt and pulled the ends up over his right shoulder.

"Brooch."

"Here, ma Laird."

Thoros nearly stabbed himself as he shoved the pin through the elaborate crescent moon. Swearing under his breath, (he was careful to use English rather than Nott so Dirby wouldn't understand) he allowed the elf to push the ornaments into place around both his wrists and his neck.

"Your wreath is in the entry," Dirby said before he could ask. "Hissy will have the chlann there by now." Thoros nodded and swept out.

The Manor's cool dry air felt amazing against his chest and legs.

"Is it a good time yet?" Hermione asked artlessly the moment he arrived. He sighed and adjusted the brooch holding her arisaid on her shoulder before straightening her wreath and brushing a hand over her curls.

She huffed and stepped out from under his hand. "You're evading."

He pinched the bridge of his nose and fought off flashes of Calladora. "Once you come of age, you will, of course, be privy to all the secrets of the Notts. Until that time, you _and_ your brother-" he shot a glance at his heir. Theodore looked away and shuffled his feet. "-are simply too young to understand. I know you are both gifted magic users, but trust me when I say you are not yet ready. You won't be until you are capable of understanding how the real world works."

He turned away to accept the satchel of offerings from Hissy.

"I will see you both at dawn."

He apparated to the Mother's Glen.

* * *

~*TNT*~

"Alright," Theo declared, arching his back over his chair. "I've finished Potions so that just leaves-"

"You've finished Potions already!?" Hermione demanded. Theo paused in his parchment shuffling.

"Yeah…" he replied, looking for the trap. "I just said-"

"What did you write the second essay on!?" She had faint ink smears along her hairline from tucking curls back.

His eyebrows furrowed and he rocked slightly away from their table. "Well, it was sort of a mishmash, really, of-"

"You made mine a mishmash!?" She seemed to lunge at him over the books and papers without actually leaving her seat. "No wonder Snape hates me!"

He rolled his eyes. "Snape doesn't-"

"Oh really?" She brandished her quill. "What did you write _yours_ on, then? Discovery? Applications?" It was either hysteria or malevolence threading her tone.

"Theoretical alterations," Theo muttered, watching her every twitch.

"And you made _mine_ a mishmash." Malevolence. Definitely Malevolence.

Fortunately, malevolence could be forced to see reason. "C'mon. You _hate_ that class! It wouldn't make _sense_ if you hated the class and were brilliant on the essays!"

"Are you pulling an E in Potions?" Her eyes flashed and her voice dropped to a deadly whisper.

"You're getting one in Charms!"

She threw down her quill and lurched upright. "Only because Flitwick won't give me anything else! I turn in shite? E! I turn in eloquent analyses? E! I turn in something only _vaguely_ related to the material that deals with an idiotic potential application for the bubble head charm? He gives me an O! An _O_ , Theodore! For basically saying if we apparated to the surface of the _moon_ we could use it to _breathe_."

"Then why don't _I_ have an E in Charms? We agreed, Hermione! Try for Acceptables on everything, but equal effort either way!"

"Well then maybe you should do your _own_ Charms essays! While you're at it you can also take back Defense and Astronomy." She crossed her arms and huffed. It sent several more curls tumbling from her high twist.

"You are not dumping those back on me. We agreed. Back on Ostara morning, we _agreed_ that it was stupid for us both to do cursory research for stuff we already know!"

"Well, maybe this isn't working anymore." She tilted her chin higher and huffed more aggressively.

He scrutinized her.

"This isn't about the homework, is it." She tensed and he felt his eyes blow wide. "You're still mad about the Yule thing, aren't you!"

"I just don't get why we can't just do a teeny bit more-"

He jumped to his feet as well. "Because Father said not to! Everything in its own time, Hermione! _That's_ what he said!"

"No, that's what _you_ said! He didn't say _anything_ to me!"

"Her _mi_ 'neeeee-" His hair refused to be pulled out by the roots.

"Don't you dare. It has been four. Months."

He tried again. Harder. " _Technically_ , it's been-"

"Shut up. Are we supposed to wait until Beltane? No! We are not _children_ to be sent off to school while the _adults_ shape the-"

"We're _twelve_!" he hissed.

"And he's denying us! Exactly! We're too young to understand!? He's not _letting_ us understand!" Her gestures were steadily expanding; though mercifully, she kept her voice at a reasonable decibel.

"When the time is right, I'm sure he'll-"

"And what time is _that_ exactly, brother dearest?" Her eyes glowed at the smell of victory as she leaned toward him. "September?" Closer. Eyes wider. "We shouldn't have to wait-"

"Yes, we-"

"So let's take it!" She grinned, snapping upright. "We'll prove we're ready! Father can't say we're too young or we don't understand how the world works if we show him-"

"A dead three-headed dog!?" he retorted, collapsing back into his chair, arms crossed over his chest. "That's supposed to impress him!? What are you, a cat!?"

"Don't be stupid." she shot him a disapproving frown. "We'd take it, not kill it. It's not going to be a rug, you monster."

"They _die_ if they fail to guard whatever they're posted to guard," he said, in an attempt to derail her.

"So we'll take the stone too." She batted off his concerns like hair from her eyes. "It's not like it will be difficult."

"Difficult? Transporting a several ton dog a couple _hundred_ miles through untold layers of warding without being seen isn't something you'd consider difficult!?"

She didn't even break stride. "The elves will help. If anything it'll prove that we understand how everything works and we're ready for more! Papa will be so _impressed_!"

"Father will be impressed that we've been reduced to dognapping?"

"Dog- _rescuing_. Remember, we're taking the stone so it _doesn't_ die. Everyone wins."

"Won't us taking the stone out of the bloody castle sort of defeat that, though? Would you _please_ sit back down?"

"Of course not. It'll still be protecting the stone, just in a different place." She shrugged.

"... You're mad. There's no way in magic that could work. This is just exam stress. Now, why don't you sit-"

"Look." She slapped her hands on the table and leaned into him. "You want to impress Papa. I want to impress Papa. Getting the _actual_ Philosopher's Stone will impress Papa." He caught a flash of crimson, black, and brunet behind her. "We are not killing that dog, so we are taking it with us." No. Bad. "This is just how it has to work." Very bad.

"Detrás de ti **[behind you]** …" He managed to squeak.

She spun to face the gaping Gryffindor. "Oh. Hello, Longbottom. This is the Creation of Spells and Creature Care section. Herbs and Herding Impulsive Idiots is over there." She jerked her chin and put a fist on her cocked hip. Theo casually adjusted his wand on the table.

The boy gave a jerky nod and a sort of assenting squeak before scrambling off.

"We may have to lay low for a while," she declared, settling daintily into her chair and opening a book.

"Oh. Perhaps a bit. Yeah," Theo sputtered.

Hermione hummed and began flipping pages.

Theo huffed a disbelieving breath from his nose. He couldn't decide whether he'd scoffed or suppressed a pointed and sardonic sort of laugh, but such noises were fairly universal, and their interpretation was largely subjective anyway.

"Hissy did not raise a dragon, Theodore Demetrius."

"She didn't raise an Azkaban _inmate_ either, Hermione Caledonia," he snapped.

"Pardon?" She blinked at him in polite confusion.

Time to be direct, then. "Mordred only knows what he overheard. How do we know he's not scurrying off to McGonagall as we speak?"

"Because it's our word against his; we're model students; he knows how society works; and we stuck his friend to a toilet for several hours," she replied, ticking them off her fingers.

"You can't be serious."

"He's a Gryffindor, cariño. If he _does_ seek justice, he'll either seek it _himself_ or try to ensure our plan fails."

Theo gaped at his sister. Hermione flipped idly through the Astronomy book.

"You know what? I think I'm done for the day. Dinner?" she asked.

"We can't just-"

"Well, it's not like it's _going_ anywhere. Our only competition is a trio of morons." She shrugged with a Narcissa laugh and assembled the books and parchments scattered over their table.

"I _meant_ -"

"And anyway, if we take it just before summer hols, then we'll have time to personally see to its adjustments and comfort all while well away from professors' prying eyes… and jurisdiction. Dinner?"

"You're the worst," he told her. He fought a smirk even as he shook his head.

She glanced up, her eyes glittering.

"No, I'm a Nott."

* * *

~*TNT*~

 _Potter has a dragon_.

"Don't you think, Draco?"

"I mean…" He allowed his voice to trail off leadingly.

 _Ok,_ technically _, Potter's pet oaf has a dragon._

"Of course, I can hardly-"

 _And the Notts didn't even react! Potter and his sidekicks nearly_ skived _Herbology, but mention it to my best friends and it's like I've got a babbling curse!_

"Pansy, Darling, you've never-"

 _An actual. Hatching. Dragon. And not a single comment, batted eyelash- It's in a_ wooden hovel _for Merlin's sake!_

"Draco? Draco, did you hear-"

He locked eyes with Pansy then darted a glance at Daphne across the way. Pansy annoyed; Daphne pleased. Right.

"I don't think I could phrase it much better, actually…" he said, reading their expressions for all he was worth. "I was just thinking about what it would do to everyone's plans…"

Daphne's eyes narrowed, and Pansy scooted closer. Good enough, apparently.

 _I wouldn't be so stupid if I was lucky enough to have a dragon egg._

"So I said-"

 _I'd be the first Malfoy to even ride a dragon! The first dragon- riding professional Quidditch playing Malfoy._

"But you _know_ she secretly has-"

 _Oh, man, how wicked would that be? Flying onto a pitch- the cheers, the lights, the wind and all- and then my freaking dragon cresting over the stadium walls?_

"Yes, but _I'm_ saying-"

 _Come to think of it… No Malfoy has ever owned a Quidditch team, either…_

"And I hear you, Sweetie, but-"

 _The Wiltshire Dragons… The Wiltshire Greens… Can you have a Welsh dragon mascot for a_ not _Welsh team?_

"The Duchess couldn't possibly agree to such a thing, though."

 _Well, they're not technically_ exclusive _to Wales, I guess…_

"It's Draco's birthday; ask him."

The two girls turned and stared at him.

 _Bugger_.

"Mother is usually very accommodating about my birthday." Full nose wrinkle from Daphne. Shit. "But she does tend to limit my more… er…" _Word. Word. Word._ "Surprising ideas." _That's neutral enough, right?_

They went back at each other.

He relaxed.

 _Red or Green would be too obvious for a dragon team, though… Silver maybe… But not for the full uniform…_

"Tracey! There you are." He glanced up, then straightened his back and nodded casually to the newcomer of inferior breeding.

"We were just discussing what we're planning to wear to Draco's birthday…" Pansy said. _Ohhh… huh. Would not have guessed that..._ "You did get your invitation, right…?" Neither Pansy nor Daphne was looking at him. He settled back into the leather.

 _I guess it would sort of depend on_ my _dragon… Can't have a_ Common _Welsh Green… You can have a Hebridean for a familiar, surely? That would be badass… A black dragon emerging on silent wings, blocking out the stars?_

"I could have sworn I heard Harry Potter-"

 _Potter would crap his pants._

"Potter?" He glanced up to match Pansy's sneer. "What's he got to do with anything?"

"I didn't see him… I just... thought I heard him," Tracey replied, blushing.

 _Potter doesn't_ need _a dragon. He couldn't even_ handle _one. I'm named for dragons._

"What did he say?" Daphne asked, leaning forward.

 _How perfect would it be if his dragon got confiscated, and then I happened to acquire one, and familiar bond with it, like a couple days later?_

"He sounded like he was waiting for the Notts with someone."

He snapped to full attention. If his best friends were helping Harry Bloody Potter get his hands on a dragon…

 _Over my dead body!_

"Excuse me, ladies." He rose and bowed. "There's something that requires my immediate attention."

* * *

 ***POSES FOR EFFECT IN THE LIGHT OF MY OWN BRILLIANCE* I updated.**

 **It is possible I am only allergic to the United States when I am not properly medicated with reviews. FOR THE SAKE OF SCIENCE, I MUST ASK YOU TO HIT THE REVIEW BUTTON. I DARE YOU TO TYPE GIBBERISH (I'LL BE DELIGHTED IF YOU DO, ACTUALLY) BUT WE CANNOT RISK ANOTHER 2 MONTHS OF WHATEVER THE HELL HAPPENED TO ME.**

 **QUIZ TIME:**

 **I, the reviewer, for the sake of science and ~ review because**

 **73) ;Ficne;ianceivnaeprg;uiba;fnda;jgbsrb #Science**

 *****) Perhaps real words are necessary to fend off multiple infections and organ mutinies? Here are some real words: (insert your content here)**

 **C) I would sell my soul for the Hufflepuff Centric World Building Fic I know you have lurking in your computer somewhere. Or maybe just more Hufflepuff stuff next chapter...?**

 **4) Does it annoy anyone else that there are usually only four options in multiple choice? Am I the only one who hates the number 4?**

 **Excellence) It's what's for breakfast.**


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